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#See the point is to be precise but i feel like explaining every answer

kingdumkum · 1 year

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WHERE THE RIVER MEETS THE SEA

this has been a long, long time coming. hopefully it’ll live up to the obscenely high expectations i’ve set. agree or disagree, please reblog/comment/send an anon with your thoughts--but make sure you read the RULES of interaction first.

summary: your date stood you up… again. Don’t worry, though, Baji will be there to pick up the pieces, like he always is. The only question… what will you do when you find out his secret? wc: 15k (we don't talk about it)

cw: virgin fem afab!reader x virgin!Baji, a lil itty bitty baby bit of blood, somewhat public (initially), bc why not, marking, creampie, Confessions galore, somewhat gendered pet names (princess, babe, sweetheart), actually gendered pet names (one handful of "good girl," "pretty girl," and "my girl"), subtle yandere themes but not to the extent a DC label is needed—correct me if I’m wrong though—be nice if I missed something, this is my first time :) way too many words but c’est la vie such is the way.

dedication: Storm, my friend, your support and advice has made me a better writer. Without you, this would probably still be sitting in my drafts, collecting dust and every hateful thought I’ve ever had about my writing. Thank you for being you and all of your aid in getting this to where it is. 💛

Your coffee’s cold when you give up. Well—second coffee, to be precise; the first you’d ordered after Tadashi said he was a few minutes away. That one had grown cold too, but the barista, taking pity, had given you a piping hot refill—for free.

It feels like an insult when she offers you a third.

An hour and a half has passed since Tadashi said he’d be there, and… well, you were still kinda hoping he might show up. But when the manager approaches with a tight-lipped smile, not-so-kindly pointing at their hours plastered ever so neatly on the glass door and indicating they’re just a few minutes to closing, your hope ebbs entirely.

The heat in your cheeks could’ve rewarmed your cup—but not one to cause a scene, you offer a tight-lip smile of your own and apologize. You don’t explain that you were waiting for someone; the pitying look in the barista’s eye as she mouths sorry and slides the unwanted third cup your way says they know.

You slip into the bathroom, wondering how in the world you could be so stupid— again. This was your third first date in three months… and the third time in three months that you’ve been stood up.

It hurts more when you check your phone. Two new messages from Emma, asking how it’s going and if you want to grab dinner to dish; one from Draken, asking if you can bring back a vanilla frappe and a triple dark roast espresso with two pumps of caramel; one from Baji, saying he might be late to pick you up, but he’d be there, and could you get him an order of whatever you’re having?

Nothing from Tadashi.

You don’t respond, instead letting your phone rest against the mirror while you stare at your reflection and try, desperately, to convince yourself it isn’t your fault.

Everything had been going great—you thought. You thought he really liked you, that he was excited to get to know you, and that this one, this one for sure would show up. You made jokes that he found funny, you were just the right amount of flirty, and you knew—thought—hoped—the picture you’d sent of your outfit (a simple sundress that accentuated your best features and wedges that made your legs seem endless) was enticing enough that he’d want to see it in person.

But here you are. Crying in the bathroom of a cafe you’ll never be able to return to, wondering how you’re going to explain to your friends that you got stood up.

Again.

Your phone starts to buzz. With a deep breath, you wipe off your dripping mascara. You force yourself to smile at the hollow reflection staring back at you, then answer with an overly-cheerful, “what’s up?”

“Kenny’s worried.” Baji’s familiar drawl echos, making the space seem even smaller. “I said he was being too overprotective, but—well, you know how he is. Said it’s his duty or some shit to make sure you’re okay. He tried to come down here himself, wanted to meet the guy trying to woo you—can you believe that? He actually said woo—“

“What do you want?” you interrupt. Too harsh, you realize when Baji doesn’t answer. “It’s just—I’m kinda in the middle of something, you know?”

Baji takes a moment, then forces a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, the little princess’s got a date, we know. God, they wouldn’t let it go. You should be thanking me, ya know, I’m the only reason they’re not all crashing—”

“Baji.”

The line falls quiet. Then, softly, “where are you, y/n?”

You frown and start searching for your mascara. “At the coffee shop. Why, where are you?”

Another pause. This one heavier. With the phone tucked to one ear, you slowly swipe the wand over your lashes. It’s clumpier than you usually like, but it’s better than nothing—

“I’m outside.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoes. You mouth another fuck, heart plummeting, then start reapplying your mascara. More carefully, now that you’re out of time. “I, uh—I’ve been here. A while.”

“Oh… yeah?” you question, teeth starting to grind. “How long’s a while?”

Baji clears his throat. “Long enough. You gonna come out, or are ya gonna make me come in?”

Mascara gets tossed in your purse, gloss comes out. “You’re not exactly welcome in the ladies room, Baji.”

You can picture the dangerous curl in his smile when he replies, “not without an invitation, babe—why, you asking?”

Your laugh isn’t completely real, but not unnatural, either. You hover the gloss over your lips, and for a moment, you imagine what it’d be like. To sneak someone into the bathroom, kissing until your lips start to bruise, his hands playing with the hem of your dress, his lips marking your skin, his voice whispering your name…

You shake the thought away. There’s no point in getting your heart broken twice in one day.

“Three’s a bit of a crowd for a single stall,” you deflect. “Be out in a minute.”

Baji hums. Your gloss feels too thick, but you don’t take it off. You fluff your hair again, placing it the way you like, turning your necklace so the clasp faces the right way, lips smacking together once, twice, three times—

By the time you run out of things to do, you think you’re ready. You pick up your purse and give yourself a final once-over. Pretty, you think. Doesn’t look like you spent the last seven minutes sobbing in a public restroom.

When you exit, Baji’s still on the line, but he doesn’t hang up. You know, because the teasing, “well shit, babe, if I had known you’d worn that, I would’ve come two hours ago,” echoes; once from your phone, and the other from the man himself, standing right in front of you.

You laugh, and this one isn’t forced at all.

Baji’s smile gleams in the evening sun. A low wolf-whistle causes your face to warm pleasantly—the way it should have, when you met Tadashi. You take Baji’s extended hand, not flinching when his callouses rub against your soft palms.

You’re used to their roughness. Much like the others, Baji’s always been a hands-on friend (and fighter), so over the years, you’ve gotten used to the various bumps, cuts, and jagged edges, to the extent that the only hands that’ve ever felt comfortable have been those rough ones, soft only for you.

Baji spins you, over-exaggerating the way he checks you out. “Sweetheart, you’re going to stop traffic looking like that.”

“Oh, please,” you deny, but your smile hasn’t been this genuine all day. “Laying it on a little thick, Baj.”

“Only the realest truth for the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” is his sly reply, accompanied by a slyer wink. It’s his usual charm, but you’re oblivious to his sincerity, the way you always are. Baji pulls you into a tight hug and closes his eyes, and for a moment, he allows himself to pretend this was your intention all along; to wind up in his arms, with his compliments, by his side—the way it always seems to go after every failed date.

But you never say as much, and you always seem so genuinely excited for the next one that he’s never going to ask. Instead, he’ll take these moments. The ones where you turn to him for comfort, where he gets to hold you, your knight-in-shining-armor, and do all that he can to make everything better.

He’s so close that you almost miss his muffled whisper of, “fucking—stupid bastard. Doesn’t know what he’s missed.”

Your smile slips. Your thumb rubs against the back of his knuckles, familiarly cracked with scabs that never seem to heal. These are fresh, though; you can tell by how his hand darts to the back of his neck, preventing you from looking too closely.

“Been up to no good?” you question with a raised brow.

“‘Course I have,” he responds easily, “you’ve been busy.”

Baji won’t meet your gaze. ‘If only you knew,’ he thinks—but he’ll never say it. Not that. Not to you. He shrugs off his black leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, fingertips lingering as he straightens the collar. His dark eyes flick to yours, a coy smirk almost hiding his guilt as he hopes beyond all hope you don’t see through him.

You almost do.

Not enough to call him out on it, though, so instead, you roll your eyes—but you can’t deny how this—him—is making everything better. He picks up the helmet he only brings when he’s driving you and puts it on for you, visor up so he can brush the hair out of your eyes. Baji offers a comforting smile, then juts his chin to his bike. “Wanna ride?”

The answer, of course, is yes; for him, it will always be yes.

Silently, you climb on and wrap your hands around him, chin tucking into his shoulder as if you were made to be there. He revs and pulls off, seamlessly weaving in and out of traffic. Your eyes close. The wind whips in your hair, and the familiar scent of nicotine, mint, and Baji’s crisp aftershave envelopes you. For a moment, you feel like everything’ll be okay. Your heart might hurt now, but after an evening with him, it’ll all be okay.

That’s the power of Keisuke Baji, though; the sense of embarking on your greatest adventure but feeling like being home, all at once.

It’s nearly sunset when he stops. Pulls up to the river, kicks the bike stand, then grabs your waist to lift you off the seat.

“I can do that,” you say, even as you let him lift you.

“More fun when I do,” he replies with an easy grin. Your feet hit the ground, but Baji keeps one hand around your waist. He takes off the helmet with the other and laughs when your hair flops out. Hurriedly you go to smooth it, but Baji catches your wrist after setting the helmet down. “You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”

He cages you between the bike and his hips with just a few inches of space—and suddenly, your heart starts to race. When did he get this close? How hadn’t you noticed the way his leg slid between yours? Why isn’t he taking his hand away? Why can’t you breathe?

Baji’s dark eyes dart between yours, then down to your lips, and for a second, for a split second, you think he’s about to kiss you—

“Not like anything can make it better now,” he smirks, and if it weren’t for how his fingers were locked in yours, you would’ve slapped him.

“Asshole.”

Baji laughs, and you swear the moon shines a little brighter. You’re grateful that he turns to check out the area before he can see just how much of an impact his laugh has on you—though you don’t doubt that he knows. He’s Baji, after all, and you’re not blind (or deaf). He’s handsome, witty, flirty with anything that moves—and that laugh of his could bring even the tides to a standstill.

“Coast’s clear,” he says, looking back at you, a lazy smirk curling his features. It shouldn’t be a surprise, hardly any ever comes this far south of the city—but a few weeks ago, you’d accidentally stumbled upon a couple who were… not expecting company, to put it delicately, and ever since, Baji had been extra cautious to make sure it was just the two of you before getting settled.

He takes a few steps backwards, leading you to your spot; a grassy knoll that overlooks the river as it feeds into the darkened sea. The moon slowly rises over rolling waves while the sun, more a memory, sets over the river’s bend. It’s a secret, sacred place for the two of you, where heartache and daydreams don’t exist; only the moon, the tides, and each other.

Your stomach flips but you can’t tell why; this is exactly what happens every time you come here, from the way he helps you off the bike to how he stops you from picking at your appearance. The only difference is the way his hand is still wrapped in yours.

You wonder if Tadashi’s would have been this warm.

But Tadashi isn’t here—Baji is, and it’s Baji’s warm hands that always make things better. So you let him keep his hand in yours, even though you’re not sure you should, and you let him gently tug you along when you don’t move fast enough. Let him take his time in taking his jacket back, in spreading it on the grass before waiting for you to sit. You even let him settle next to you, instinctively leaning into the familiar comfort of his body and for a minute, you wonder how you ever could’ve wanted your day to end different.

Then Baji meets your gaze, smiles that sweet, genuinely kind half smile that he only shares with you, and you remember: Baji is your friend—and no matter how many heartaches he heals, that’s all he’ll ever be.

You can’t remember when things got so complicated.

When it was just you and Kenny, you’d sneak up to the roof of the brothel and watch the sun dip behind the buildings and talk about how one day, you’d get a house that was that color pink, and it’d be on the far side of Japan where you could watch the sunset from your porch and life would be good. The sunset was the only dream you’d ever need, and it would be good.

Then Mikey started coming. More often than not he’d fall asleep before the sun did, and on the days he didn’t—the roof felt too… small. The dreams, too… little. They evolved, from a porch where you could watch the sunset to a skyline that never sleeps.

Dreams change, and that’s okay… but a part of you aches for the time when the sunset felt like enough—when the family you had, the brothers you’d found and the friends you’d made—was enough. You still had the sunset, but rarely. More often than not, you were by yourself up there, or stuck to Kenny’s side somewhere out there, or brushing against Baji’s shoulder down here.

So these days, you prefer to watch the moon rise. There’s more comfort in a light to guide you through the night, rather than watching your dreams disappear with the day.

And you do, the way you do every time you’re stood up or don’t feel—enough. You sit beside Baji with the full moon crawling towards you, staring at the conjunction of the river and the sea, and focus on how you’re going to get through this.

Baji cut his hair since the last date—the last time you’d been stood up, you correct. Still long, but now only to the edge of his jaw, not mid-back like you were used to. The light is bright behind him, bringing out the warm undertones in his onyx hair. You can make out the scab on his cheek from a bar fight a few weeks ago; the scar on his nose from when Mikey split it the first time they fought; the tender bruise along his jaw that looks too new to have told you the story yet.

Instinctively, you reach for it… then chicken out, instead teasing the edge of his hair. You’re left wondering if an angel’s wings would be as soft.

Baji glances at you from the corner of his eye. “You don’t like it?”

“What? I didn’t say that.” Your hand falls back to your lap, eyes quick to follow. The light behind him is too bright—too blinding. Too much like a halo. It’s impossible to hide the truth from an angel, and you know you don’t have the right words to convey just how beautiful you find him. “Just… gonna take some getting used to. I don’t think you’ve ever had it this short.”

He scoffs. “Maybe at birth.”

The idea of baby Baji flashes through your mind; sweet, chubby cheeks, little fists flailing at the world. A tuft of hair, dark as his and long already, but when he opens his eyes, they’re yours—

“Why’d you cut it?” your voice is steadier than you expect. It does nothing to change your thoughts, especially when Baji’s slender fingers start pulling at grass, just the way a baby grasps what's in front of him.

He stares straight ahead, letting one hand splay by your lower back as he watches the green blades dance in the wind. “Figured it was time for a change.”

You hmm in acknowledgement, brain too traitorous to come up with anything other than, ‘I bet you were a cute baby’ or ‘you look handsome either way’ or, worst of all, ‘why would you ever want to change?’

He probably meant nothing by it. Baji’s as flexible as they come; sets his own hours at the shop, varies what time he wakes or goes to bed, never eats the same thing too many times in a row… there’s not much permanency in his life as it is, so it sticks with you that he still wants something different.

If he thinks you’re being weird, he doesn’t say so. He waits for you to speak, like always, and like always, you find yourself loving him a little more for it. Baji’s so—quick; to judge, to speak, to fight… but in these moments, when it’s the two of you and the moon and no one else, he’s not. He’s slow; slow to speak, slow to touch, slow to pull away…

Slow to make you wonder why you keep wasting time with boys who don’t deserve it when he might be enough.

The silence becomes too much; too easy to drown in. Too tempting to fill with all the wrong things.

“What happened to your jaw?” is the best you come up with.

It’s no surprise when he answers, “got into a fight,” but how he says it… how he immediately ducks his head and covers the darkening bruise with a broad palm, as if he’d forgotten all about it and wished you would, too… that makes you pause.

One tenet of your relationship is that you don’t lie to each other. There are often times you wish he would, like when Chifuyu teases him about the pretty girl at the pet shop who came back and asked for the number of the flirty hunk who sold her a dog collar and Baji admits she was pretty cute and he’ll take her to drinks tomorrow night, or when Kazutora reminds Baji that he promised to go on a double date with the twins they met clubbing so no, he can’t take a look at that leaky pipe in your bathroom—but you’d never say that. Not when he could, so easily, call you out for keeping your own.

So when he goes out of his way to not have to tell you the truth, you know better than to push.

“Did it hurt?”

Baji looks to you with a cocky smile. “You should see the other guy.” You snort. Baji knocks his shoulder into yours. “I’m good, really. Just… had some business, s’all.”

It’s supposed to be comforting, but it’s not. It only flares your curiosity… and honestly? Your annoyance. “I hadn’t realized a pet shop needed such security.”

Baji barks out a laugh. “I mean, you’ve seen how crazy some people get about their pets, ‘specially when they think Dr. Google is a better resource than Chifuyu’s degree… but nah, this was… off the books.” He catches your inquisitive gaze and offers a smile, but it’s more like a grimace in the lowlight. His hand creeps closer, fingers pressing into your back, and for a moment, you’re willing to let it go. He gently grazes the middle of your spine. “It’s done, alright? Finished. Won’t happen again.”

You know he’s lying because he holds you close, the way he only does when he thinks you’re about to leave.

But you don’t leave; you never leave. You just give him a withering glare you know he can’t see, then turn back to the ocean.

You hate this feeling. The one where the world becomes unsteady, and everything you’d been trying to keep buried since you were thirteen sneaks up on you. That horrid, awful, destructive fascination and jealousy and yearning that’s plagued you since Baji first bragged about stealing a kiss from the pretty girl that lived three floors above him and only gets worse every time he mentions someone new.

Going on dates was supposed to squash this. Meeting a nice guy, having a good time, and getting a kiss or two of your own was supposed to end this. This—obsession—you’ve had since the first time Baji said he hopes that one day, you meet the right guy and you accidentally thought, ‘maybe it’s you.’ Because at the end of the day, he’s the one who’s there. Not Tadashi, who couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Not Draken, who recently started putting Emma above all else (even you). It’s been Baji, your Baji, whose mere existence makes everything better, that’s been the last one standing.

You can’t ruin that. You can’t risk pushing away the only companion who still puts you first for something you’re positive you can find somewhere else.

At least, that’s what you have to tell yourself, as yet another date fails and Baji is here, again, picking up the pieces and making you feel more whole than when the day started.

The sky is nearly dark when you finally ask the question that’s been on your mind since the barista gave you that pity cup—the one that’s probably still sitting in the bathroom, the last witness to your heartbreak. Just as alone and unwanted as you.

“What’s… wrong with me?”

Baji’s sharp. He alway has been, from the stern angle of his nose to the feral way his teeth carve like a predator’s. He watches everything—the road, the fighters, you—with a scrutiny that’s often clouded behind cheshire grins and snide quips.

But there’s nothing sharp about him tonight; only soft. Soft hands that gently grab your chin and force you to look at him. Soft breathes as he pulls you close. Soft words as he makes sure you hear him whisper, “nothing.”

Baji’s eyes, dark and teeming with something you can’t place, move from one eye to the other; to the fingers on your cheek; to your tongue, wetting your lips. He leans in, forehead resting against yours as his hand slides back, gripping your hair like you're his lifeline and not the other way around, and you’re back to thinking okay, this is it, he’s going to kiss me, he’s finally going to kiss me—

But all he does is repeat, “absolutely—fuckin’ nothing, alright? And—‘n fuck whoever makes you feel otherwise,” before resuming his seat like nothing happened.

You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. It’s stale and hot and full of fury, your fury, and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck you, Keisuke.”

“What?” Baji scrambles for your arm as you abruptly stand, too furious to even look at him. You rip away but don’t stop, trying to will the stupidness of—whatever this is—to go away, to release you so you can go back to feeling better and right and whole. “Wait—come on, I didn’t—what did I say? Did I do something? Where the hell are you going?”

“Forget it!” you snap. His every question—the fact he wants to make it right even though he’s the reason it hurts—just makes it worse. “Just—leave it alone, alright? It obviously doesn’t matter—”

This time when he grabs your arm, he doesn’t let you leave. He pulls you in to him, nearly crashing you into his chest as he holds you in place.

“Damnit, y/n, what the hell? What did—why are you being like this?” For the first time tonight, he meets your eyes without falter. He tucks a hand under your chin, all but pries your eyes open himself to search for what you're hiding. You try shrugging out of his iron grip, but he’s too strong. “What did I do?”

“Nothing—” You’re horrified at the way your voice cracks. “Fucking—nothing, Baji, you did nothing—“

“Then why’re you so fucking mad, hunh? Why’re you acting like I’m the bad guy here?” His fingers tighten. It would’ve hurt, if you weren’t so angry. “I’m not the asshole who stood ya up—I’m not the one who’s been dickin’ everyone around, pretending like everything’s fine when I know, Draken knows—even fuckin’—Pah-chin—can tell that something’s wrong—“

“You’re calling me an asshole?” you gasp incredulously. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes!” he retorts hotly—then, upon realizing how horribly angry you’re growing, quickly backtracks, “I mean—no! Actually, no, you know what, I did mean yeah, because guess what, princess? You are acting like an ass! You’ve got—all these people who wanna be here for you, I want to be here for you, and all you’re doing is getting mad at me for it—”

“What do you want me to say, Baji?” It’s useless, trying to get free, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. “That I’m—heartbroken—at being stood up—again? That I’m done with dating, that I’m giving up, that everyone fucking sucks but I must suck worse—”

“They don’t deserve you—”

“Like hell!” Your tone is scalding. It must burn him just as bad, because a single lapse in his grip lets you rip your arm away. “That’s the whole goddamn point of dating, jackass, to figure out who’s worth what—and all this has shown is that I’m not worth it, to anyone.” You slam your hands against his chest, tears stinging your lash line. If you weren’t so angry, you might not have missed how his face falters when you push him away. “And you just—sitting there, and—and holding me like that, and—and telling me that I’m not the problem when I’m the only common denominator—you’re such a fucking liar—”

“You think it’s any easier for me?” he’s quick to yell, frustration making him bare his teeth like fangs. Anyone else would’ve cowered—but you stand your ground. Place two hands on his chest and shove, hard, forcing him back as he continues, “you think it’s any easier to see you gettin’ your hopes up, to freak out over what to text, what to wear, what to do—all for those fuckin’ dickweeds? Hunh? Guys who can’t even—spell your name right, or remember what your favorite flower is, or fucking—show up? You think it’s any fucking easier seeing you so goddamn upset over someone who doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, let alone spend time with you–be with you? Because it’s not, sweetheart!”

The sweet pet name that usually makes your heart skip a beat only aggravates you further. Your hands go from shoving to slamming, open palms against the hard muscle of his chest—but he doesn’t even flinch. Just catches your wrists before you can do it again and stares, like you’ve started speaking in tongues. “Oh, poor Baji, must be hard, hunh, thinking no one’s good enough, thinking everyone’s so lucky as to have people throwing themselves at them left and right—but newsflash, Keisuke, not all of us are like you! Not all of us have the ability to pick whoever we want, some of us actually have to work at it—“

“Stop working on the wrong guys then!”

“You’ve never even met them, how would you know—“

“Because they let me stand in the way!”

The world stills.

You can’t place why; why this feels like a sucker punch, why your heart is suddenly skipping beats–why you can’t tell if this hurts. Not until Baji’s grip tightens, then his eyes widen, and you have a sneaking suspicion you know where this is going—but still, you ask, “what?”

He doesn’t respond. He can’t.

He lets go of you, though every fiber in his being begs him to stay. He takes a step back, though his heart pleads for him to wrap you in his arms and hold you close and tell you the truth, about what he did, why he did it, why he can’t bring himself to regret it…

He has to turn his back to you, to stare at the waves crashing along the sand as he tries to process just how badly he’s fucked this up and if there’s any possibility for redemption. It’s too late to lie. Too late to try and salvage this.

He’s made his bed; it’s time to lie in it.

Baji sighs–or something close. Something choked, not quite a laugh but also not quite a sob. Something is stuck in him, and even with the ice in your veins, you piece it together. Somehow, this—the failed dates, the heartache, the loneliness—it's all his fault.

Still, you have to ask. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You try making the venom in your voice match that in your blood, but you can’t. Not when he looks so—defeated. He runs his hands through his hair, doing a miserable job of either pretending he can’t hear you or attempting to buy enough time to come up with a plausible lie—though you don’t need him to. Not when his actions say enough.

It’s your turn to reach for him. Your turn to grab his arm, to keep him in place. You want to hold on to your anger, but the way his hands are shaking makes it impossible.

You draw him close, voice gentle as you say his name. You reach for his cheek, keeping his hands still with one of yours, and you tilt his head; he lets you tilt his head so that he has no choice but to look at you.

When your gazes meet, you wait.

“I had to,” he eventually says. His voice is steady, but his hands aren’t. His fingers wrap around your wrists tightly, as if he’s afraid you might try leaving—but your grip on him is equally tight. “They weren’t good for you. They were jerks, and they were only going to break your heart, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not to you. I had to—I had to.”

“Had to… what?” He doesn’t answer, not until you prompt, “had to what, Baji?”

“Don’t—” he breathes. “Don’t… call me that.” His eyes close, and he leans into the palm on his cheek. For a moment, you pretend that he’s memorizing the feel of you, as if he’s scared to lose you—but that can’t be it. Keisuke Baji isn’t afraid of anything.

You’re not sure what’s more painful: the knots in your stomach or the hope in your heart. “Tell me what you did,” you muster up. “Keisuke, tell me what you did.”

When his eyes finally open, all of his anger is gone. In its place is something you’ve rarely seen, and even rarer directed at you: desperation.

“I stopped them.”

For a moment, all you hear is your own heart… then the waves of truth come crashing down.

“I—I found them, and I swear on my life, on your life—I only meant to talk to them, to figure out if—if they had good intentions, if they were gonna treat you right—but they all sucked, y/n, they were awful—going on and on about how they were—how they wanted to—to fuck you, just to say they could—or they weren’t—serious about how they felt and I couldn’t—I couldn’t let them do that, I couldn’t let them hurt you like that, so I… I hurt them first. Not—not much, just enough so they’d—get the idea. Leave you alone. Stay away from my girl—”

He cuts himself off, and for a moment, you’re frozen. You don’t know what to do, what to think—is this real? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Does he really mean it?

Baji’s voice cracks when he says your name.

“Y/n, listen—listen to me,” he pleads. His forehead presses against yours. Your cheeks grow wet, though you can’t tell if that’s because of you or him. “You are—the most amazing person in this whole freaking world. You get that? You’re—smart, and pretty, and so fucking funny and—and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot. And it fucking—kills me—that you’ve got it in your head that what these—stupid pricks think is the only thing that matters, because it’s not. It’s never mattered. The only thing—the only thing that has ever mattered… is you. Okay? You.”

Your throat closes. Your hands reach for his, catching only wrists as he cradles your face, trying to ground yourself in this moment. In all the things he says and all the things he doesn’t; in the silent, desperate dream that refused—refuses—to die, taking over you once more.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” His lips are so close, they brush your nose. “I’d say I regret it, but I don’t, because— you deserve better. You deserve the world, if you want, or—or the moon and all the stars, and—and unless they’d get it for you, they don’t deserve you. Okay? None of them deserved you.”

You’re just a hair away from kissing him, from caving to the impulses you thought were dead and gone and hopeless all these years, and the worst possible sentence sinks out: “you’re an idiot, Kei.”

Then you lean forward and kiss him.

In an instant—you feel whole. You feel right, in a way you haven’t since you decided you never had a chance with him; in a way you’ve been searching for in the words of all the others who’d let you down, who’d broken your heart and always, always, always led you back to moonrise with Baji, back home—

Baji jolts. He pulls away and stares at you with a wild mixture of shock and confusion. His fingers ghost his lips, only to draw back as he stares at them, then at you, then back at them, like he can’t quite comprehend this hand is attached to his body—like you were. Like you want to be, like you thought he wanted to be, like you thought he was asking you to be—

Your heart plummets as he just—stands, no witty quip or teasing remark at the ready. No lines to read between; no phrasing to draw false confessions from; nothing other than the stillness of the night, and the pounding of your heart.

“Wait—” you shrink as you realize just how hoarse a single stolen kiss has left you. “I thought—please, Kei—”

A flicker of… something dances in his eyes, and then—he watches you. Studies you, with the same scrutiny he holds before a fight or when picking apart a bike to see what parts are broke and what can be saved.

“Say it again.”

It’s your turn to blink; your turn to have wide eyes and parted lips, to study him like you’re not sure how to fix it. “I don’t—“

“My name,” he says, and your heart starts to leap. “Say my name, sweetheart.”

“I say your name all the time, Keisuke.” You’re barely above a whisper. Barely above the fear that this time, he’ll break your heart and there’ll be no one to pick up the pieces because—you ruined this.

“Not like that,” he breathes. You forget how to. “Say it like it means something. Like—you don’t hate me. Like—”

“Kei,” you interrupt, hands coming to cradle his cheeks as you read between the lines, “I forgive y—”

He doesn’t even let the final word form before his lips are on yours. Hard, aggressively melding like he’s worried you might change your mind and wants to milk every second out of this as he can—but you reciprocate just as desperately. Keisuke’s hands wrap around you, one gripping the base of your neck and the other resting on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth opens, teasing your lips apart as you trade air, fingers digging into your soft skin like it’s the last thing he’ll ever touch.

You pull away first, and that’s only because your lungs are aching—not that you mind. The pain helps make this feel real.

For once, Keisuke’s grin doesn’t seem mocking. He moves a hand to cradle your face, thumb rubbing against your cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that, sweetheart.”

“Not as long as I have,” you admit with a breathy laugh. Your hands lock around his neck, fingers playing with his hair, and you realize you’re smiling.

You kissed. Keisuke kissed you, you kissed him—everything makes sense. Everything is right, and with the moon and tides as your witness, everything is good again.

“Can I…” Keisuke starts, eyes flicking to your lips in an unspoken question. You finish his sentence with a kiss.

“You can always kiss me, Kei,” you say. “You don’t even have to ask.”

There’s the grin you recognize; the scheming, teasing grin that always makes your stomach flip in a way you thought meant he’s up to no good, but now realize as a sign you’d fallen for him long ago.

“Oh, yeah?” he questions, brushing his lips against yours. “Only here? Or can I kiss… here?” He moves to the corner of your lips, then to the hollow of your cheek as he continues, “and… here? And maybe…”

He trails off, and he trails down, letting his lips drag against your cheek while his hand keeps you firmly in place, lips going done to your chin, down the column of your throat and back up. Your breathy yes would be pathetic—if it ever made it out. All that escapes is a breathy groan of displeasure when he stops, teasing lips hovering just above your own. “What’s that, babe? Want me t’stop?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Your hands tangle in his hair, lips melding as your make-out turns heated. He slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, silently asking you to open—and you do. His hands curl around you, bringing you closer until there’s no space left between you.

Something digs into your leg. Something hard and unmistakable, and it leaves you grinning deeper than Kei.

You break away, laughing at his whine of protest and briefly glance down. Keisuke follows your eyes and is quick to splutter a nervous chuckle, hands dropping as he tries to step away with a short apology—though the way you catch his belt loops stops him. “Shit—sorry, I didn’t—I just—it’s your fault, y’know—“

“Shut up,” you giggle and drag him back. Now, you kiss him; once, twice, then a third before trailing your lips along the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, along his temple, to his ear. “How about you take me home, Kei?”

Keisuke’s whiplash nearly hurts you. His eyes, big and brown and wide, stare like you’ve grown an extra head. His hands shakily splay against your back, as if he wants to keep you close but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. His voice wavers slightly when he asks, “but I thought… aren’t… I mean, isn’t this… what you wanted?”

Slowly, you nod. Even slower, you pointedly look at the space between you, bridged only by the tent of his black pants. You smile at the sweet way a blush covers his cheeks, and risk slowly trailing your hand along his belt until your fingertips are hovering over that stupid, shiny, obnoxiously big belt buckle you always tease him for.

“I want you, Keisuke, and I want you to take me home.”

He doesn’t need more encouragement.

Keisuke’s kisses grow fiercer. He devours you, never once breaking contact as his hands slide to find firm purchase on the back of your thighs. With ease, he lifts you atop his bike, setting you in front of him and stepping between your spread legs. The hem of your dress slides up with his calloused palms, collecting in a bunch then pooling down to protect your modesty as he finds two handfuls of ass. He gives a squeeze, eliciting a delighted gasp from you, then pulls back with a toothy smile.

“Then have me, sweetheart. Always been yours, anyways.”

Your stomach twists, the way it always does when he looks at you like that, and you like it. It makes sense, it feels right—and you don’t have to pretend to justify why it makes your panties wet.

“Gotta—gotta get home—“ you try saying, but Keisuke’s hands have a mind of their own. They’re the only reason you’re still upright as he starts kissing along your neck, carefully grazing his sharp teeth but never once digging in. Your arms lop around him, digging into his scalp and shoulders as he finds this one spot that makes you moan, and you almost curse him for what that smile has done to you.

“Fuckin’—insane—if you think I'ma make it,” he mumbles into your skin, and you think you finally understand how some people can climax from someone’s voice alone.

You laugh and intend to push him away and demand that he do, that you have to, that you need to, because this—isn’t like you, you’re not one to get hot and heavy like this, certainly not in public—

But you can’t think straight. Not when Keisuke’s hands are kneading your ass, pinching and releasing like he can’t decide if he wants to hold on forever or explore somewhere new. Not when his teeth nibble your neck, and you shudder at the unbelievably primal sensation running through you.

Not when the unmistakable hardness of Keisuke’s boner finds home between your thighs, and he starts bucking his hips. It’s subtle, and he doesn’t tease you for the pathetic way you start whimpering. He focuses on continuing to explore the expanse of your otherwise untouched skin, while all you can do is revel in the way your high starts building.

You’ve been kissed before, on the lips and neck and once a little lower, but no one’s ever done this to you; pressed against your collarbone. Moved your neckline aside to suck on the fat of your breast. Left a mark that’ll last longer than a minute. For a moment, you wonder if you should tell him he’s the first, but when the zipper of his pants starts catching your clit, the only thing you’re able to do is moan his name.

Loudly.

Breathy and passionate and different than before, and he pauses. Lifts his head from your collarbone, a thin tendril of salvia keeping his lips still attached to the sensitive skin you know will bruise. He lets one hand trail up your side and cup your face, staring like this might be the last time he ever sees you, all while his hips continue to rut against you.

“Say it again,” he breathes, thumb catching your bottom lip. “Just—just like that.”

“Kei,” you repeat, giggling at the way he brightens and starts kissing you, “we need to go home—now.” For good measure, you boldly let your fingers slide to the edge of his belt buckle, in case he needs some more convincing. His free hand darts to yours, but he doesn’t stop you. He laces his fingers in yours and guides you, letting you palm at his thick hard-on. He lets out a low groan and drops his head from your lips to rest at your chest, just above the collar of your dress. You card one hand through his hair, the other applying light pressure to the (you assume) very painful ache between his legs—and not at all because you know, if he kept bucking into your core the way he just was, the way he keeps doing against your palm—you wouldn’t be able to make it home, either. “Take—take me home, Kei—”

“Not—” he huffs. His grip on your ass tightens, but you can barely feel it. Not when Keisuke whines, low and needy, teeth coming out to nip at your breast, and all you can focus on is the ache between your own legs, getting even worse as his hips start moving faster, forcing the back of your hand against your cunt as you continue to palm him. His hips don’t stop; they push against you so fiercely, so desperately, that you cave, taking away your hand so there’s nothing between you but your clothes.

You’re on the precipice in minutes; hands digging into his shoulders as you choke on a sob, pleading with him to go faster, to not stop, to keep making you feel good—and it’s made all the worse when he does, pressing his throbbing erection even harder against your soaked panties, all the while pleading into your skin, “can’t—can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t—y/n—“

You gasp when his teeth break skin.

Keisuke’s hips still. Warm air saturates your chest as he groans into it, and for a moment you’re frozen. Your whole body aches, and you want to scream at the cruel way your orgasm was stolen—but you’re too in shock that he got you there that fast, that easily. Something warm trickles down your cheeks, between your breasts—blood? saliva? tears?—he doesn’t move. You don’t move. You’re not even sure he’s breathing, until his shoulders heave and your skin is warmed once more. A slight burn starts to spread across your chest, and when you open your mouth to ask him why the hell he stopped—all that comes out is his name.

You say it softly, then a little louder, but it’s not until you grab his face and force him to look up that he speaks—but his eyes are fixed firmly on the reddening bite mark forming atop your breast.

“M’sorry…”

A mean part of you wants to tell him he owes you a lot more than sorry, but the way his lower lip disappears as he nervously chews on it has you choosing otherwise. “It’s okay,” you comfort instead, “it didn’t hurt that bad.”

Keisuke grimaces. “No, I—”

He sighs, head dropping back to your chest. Both arms wrap around your waist, and he presses a light kiss to the place he’d just bitten; the only way he probably figures he can keep close without meeting your gaze. He mumbles something, but you only know because you feel his lips moving.

“Can’t hear you…” you try prompting, but it only makes him snuggle deeper. He sighs again, loud and warm and in a way you’re familiar with—the way that really means, I can’t believe I have to do this… “C’mon, Kei, don’t you want to take me home?”

“Ididntmakeit.”

You have never, ever, in your life ever seen Keisuke embarrassed. Not when he told you about needing Chifuyu to tutor him post-juvie; not when he failed his college entry exams; not even when you accidentally walked in on him showering (in hindsight, he was probably a little too comfortable with how long it might’ve taken you to leave).

This was the man who went skinny dipping for fun. He’ll order fruity drinks for his friends who are too embarrassed to do it themselves. His approach to a lost fight is to get a rematch, not pretend it didn’t exist, and even in mundane moments that have you at a loss for words, like mistaking someone’s name or forgetting a face, Kei’s always quick for a retort or defense or a smile that makes everything better.

Keisuke Baji doesn’t get embarrassed—but that’s the only word that fits. His cheeks are redder than you’ve ever seen, his breathing faster than his pulse. His eyes refuse to meet yours, and his fingers knead into clumsy, nervous patterns along the side of your thighs.

Then he takes a deep breath, and with one shaking hand, he slowly brings your palm to the crotch of his pants… that are now sticky.

Your eyes widen, and you’re almost too late to choke down a gasp. Kei’s eyes close, and he ducks his head in shame. “I didn’t—I mean, I haven’t—you're just—I’m so sorry—”

“Why?” It sounds curt, and you don’t intend it to. Better than laughing, you reason—although you will absolutely get him for this later… when it stops feeling like the most humiliating thing in the world.

Keisuke swallows. “I haven’t ever… you know.”

“What, cum early?” It’s cruel to tease, you know that, but you can’t stop the slight satisfaction that you—you—are able to bring a man like Keisuke Baji to his knees.

“No! I mean—no, I…” Kei looks out to the ocean, fingers still anxiously kneading into your thighs. The temperature drops, though you’re not sure if it actually does or you’re just feeling like it as you try to understand what’s happened, what’s happening—what you’re to do next. His jaw clenches and he tries to pull away from you, but you don’t let him. You wrap your legs around the backs of his thighs, keeping him in place.

“Kei…” you say softly. You don’t force him to look at you. Instead, you let your fingers trail up his abs, curling around his neck so you can rest your forehead against his temple and kiss his cheek. “I don’t care. Just means you gotta make it up to me—”

“I’ve never had sex before.”

You’re grateful he doesn’t look at you, because you’re not able to control the utter shock coloring your face. How is that possible? You’ve heard the whispers when you go out; you’ve seen the looks. At parties or bars or clubs, he’d find a pretty thing and disappear, and you assumed you knew what happened behind those closed doors—because why, why, why would you want to ask about that?

The others didn’t dispel it, either; in fact, they’d constantly rip on him for his… gift, and Keisuke never fought back. He’d just smirk and wink and say, “it’s never disappointed,” and by the time you’d turned red, thinking about when you caught him in the shower and knew what they were saying was true, they’d moved on to taunting someone else.

So how the hell is it possible that Keisuke’s a virgin—and, more importantly, how didn’t you know?

You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover. If he were to ask, you’d say you were just waiting for him—because when you do speak, it’s only when Keisuke turns to you with narrowed eyes, an apprehensive blush clear on his face.

“Wanna know a secret?” you ask, forcing a teasing lilt to your voice—though your stomach twists. This isn’t exactly the way you wanted to tell him, and for a flash, you think of how disappointed he might be to learn the truth.

But when he meets your gaze, eyes wide and focused entirely on you, somewhere between hopeful and nervous, you know it’s for the best. Your smile is sweet, but not as sweet as your lips when you kiss the crinkle between his eyes. He immediately relaxes, hands stilling as he leans into you. “Neither have I.”

He straightens and pulls far enough away so he can examine you. For a minute, your confession hangs between the two of you, then Kei starts floundering, “but I thought… you said… but he… what about your ex?”

You shrug, your own cheeks starting to flush. “It never felt right.”

Keisuke blinks. His mouth parts, eyes darting between yours like he’s waiting for the gotcha!, but all he receives is the embarrassed way you can’t meet his gaze, feeling as if you’ve somehow let him down. You squirm, his warm hands still atop your thighs sending butterflies to your stomach, and shrug again. “I dunno, I just—didn’t think it was fair. Doing that with someone, when all I could think about…” you swallow, lips twisting as you debate whether or not to tell him the truth.

He catches your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Think about what, sweetheart?”

The way he asks tells you he already knows; but like earlier, when you knew and had to hear it anyway, he needs you to say it, too.

So you take a steadying breath. You gently trail a finger down the side of his jaw, and you make yourself smile as you say, “you, Kei. It didn’t seem right if it wasn’t you.”

This time when he kisses you, it’s slow. He takes his time in tasting you, in savoring the moment. He lets you guide where his lips go, how his hands wander, and he waits for you to pull back before he suggests, “how about I take you home now?”

Your stomach flutters. Fingers knot at the base of his skull, and slowly, a smile spreads on your face.

“I’d like that.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple. You can feel the joy in it, one that doesn’t fade for either of you as he unhooks your legs so you can properly straddle the bike, then tucks the helmet on you and pops on himself.

“Hold on,” he calls as he revs the engine, “might be goin’ a bit faster than usual.”

“Don’t worry,” you laugh, and even though you know he probably can’t hear you, you add, “I’m never letting go.”

You make it to Keisuke’s apartment in seven minutes flat—which, normally, would leave you terrified, given his place is twenty minutes from your spot, but you doubt that’s what’s got your heart racing. He barely gives you enough time to take the helmet off before his hands are back on you, easily scooping you up and carrying you up the stairs. You bump into a few walls, and the way you’ve got a loose grasp on his helmet sends it craning into his back just as often, but neither of you care. Between fits of giggles and cautious glances to make sure he’s not about to walk you through a glass door (or down a stairwell), you kiss like it’ll be the last time you ever get the chance to.

“Anyone home?” you mumble into his lips. He slams you against the front door of his shared three-bedroom apartment, using his hips to keep you up while he tries to find the lock by memory.

“Nope,” he replies, lips busy with your skin, fingers fumbling uselessly behind you. “Stupid—fucking lock—told Tora to leave it—never fuckin’ listens—”

“Relax,” you laugh, although that’s rich coming from you. Your legs tighten around him as you break free from his kiss, instead sucking along the column of his throat. Freeing his face is supposed to give him enough room to actually look for the lock, so the two of you can stop dry-humping in the hall and finally get the privacy you need—but like always, Keisuke does the unexpected.

He throws his head back and moans, giving you more access to leave a matching hickey—and you’re not strong enough to resist the temptation. A whine starts in his throat, from where you’re sucking on his pale skin. The keys clatter to the ground.

“Keisuke,” you scold—but before you can tease him for being in a rush, his lips are back on yours.

“Never gonna make it,” is his only defense.

“Gonna—gonna have to,” you reply, but every time you try pulling away or reach for the keys yourself, he grabs you. Wraps your wrists in his rough hands, pins them to the door beside your head, and leans so far forward that, even with your limp legs, he’s able to keep you up himself. “Kei—“

“So help me sweetheart,” he warns, hips rolling against yours with a sense of urgency only outmatched by his kiss, “if you keep saying my name like that, I swear to the gods I’m gonna fuck you right here.”

“So help me, sweetheart,” you shoot back, breathy and hot as you try to avoid the way his lips chase yours, “if you don’t get me inside right now, I might let you.”

He freezes. Pulls away from the delightful bruise he’d just been leaving below your ear and stares at you with a mixture of awe and utter delight. “Really?”

You swat the back of his head. “No, dumbass, open the fucking door.”

Keisuke’s lips, pink and bruising slightly, twist in a pretend pout as he squats. He keeps one thick palm under your thigh, keeping your leg wrapped around him as he snags his keys. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“Says the guy who does—that,” you try scoffing, but you’re cut off with a moan when Kei stands and bounces you against his hips. His boner is back and harder than before, pressing into your core, the messy, wet mix of your drenched panties and his earlier cum making a lewd sound in the otherwise silent hallway.

“Does… what, babe?” he teases. “C’mon, finish that sentence.”

You don’t know how he finds the focus to actually find the lock this time, but you thank every deity in the world that he does—because it takes just a second, a single, solitary second for him to jimmy it in, slam the door open, and you’re finally alone.

The door frame rattles. Something falls, but you can’t tell if it’s the mirror you insisted he hang above the entry table you insisted he get or if it’s the rickety old coat rack Chifuyu said would ‘class up the joint’; all you know is that as soon as the key is in, Baji’s hands are back to cradling your thighs for support as he crosses the threshold.

You reach for the door, but he catches it with his ankle and slams it shut, quickly spinning to pin you against it.

“Really—” you pant, “really got the place—to ourselves?”

“Mhm,” Keisuke confirms. He leans into you, palms rubbing along your thighs until they get to your knees, silently asking you to wrap tighter around him. You do, and the moment he feels your ankles cross at the small of his back, his hands move to your waist. “Told ‘em—needed space.”

“Oh?” you question, your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt and tug, tug, tugging—“And when’d you do that?”

He reaches behind his head and yanks his tee off, tossing it carelessly into the darkness of the apartment. You hadn’t even paused to turn on the lights.

“After I saw Tadashi.” You can tell he’s grinning, especially as you drag your nails along the chiseled plane of his abs. His hands slide up your torso, thumb rubbing your stomach through the thin cotton of your dress, grazing the underwire of your bra. “Told Tora this one wasn’t gonna work, either, ’n he said I should just tell ya the truth, 'cause he couldn’t watch me mope around all night again—”

“Mope?” you tease. Kei’s fingers dig in. “Kazutora accused you of moping?”

“Well—shut up!” he whines. “You try watching the person you’re in love with go out with guys who don’t deserve them and tell me you wouldn’t start moping either—y/n? Why… are you looking at me like that?”

Your eyes are wide. Your hands go limp, the helmet falling to the floor with a loud clatter. Your lips part to say… something, but you’re not sure what.

Keisuke’s told you he’s loves you a thousand times; the brief ‘kay love ya! before he hangs up; the gentle love you, see ya tomorrow whenever he’d bring you home; the drawn out gods I love you after you’ve surprised him with his favorite meal—but none like this.

None so… blatant. So unmistakable.

Kei stares at you curiously, as if he isn’t even aware of what he’s just said. He repeats your name, hands leaving your waist to catch your chin.

“You’re… in love with me?”

Keisuke blinks.

For a moment, you think you must’ve misheard, he must’ve misspoke, you must have misunderstood—but a brilliant smile breaks his face, and he nuzzles his nose against yours. “‘Course I’m in love with you, sweetheart. I’ve been in love with you, and I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you—”

You kiss him.

The gentlest one yet. The way you always dreamed your first one would be; soft, sweet, lips pressing together while your hands held him close. Heartbeats synching. The world falling away as it’s just the two of you, in this moment, endless and forever.

There’s only one thing to say when you pause: “I love you too, Keisuke.”

Your teeth knock together as Keisuke can’t contain his smile, either. Hands move, one around the small of your back and the other under a single thigh. Your lips never part as he carries you to his room.

He sets you at the foot of his bed and stands above you. His chest heaves, bare and flushed with need. Your hands slip from his neck to his bed to keep yourself propped up, legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. Keisuke’s hands travel to your knees, and he just—stares.

He loves you. How could he not, with the way that pretty dress puddles on his mattress, exposing nearly all of your leg but hiding what he’s been waiting for his whole adult life? How could he not, with the way his spit makes your collar glistens in the moonlight, filtering in from behind those sheer curtains you insisted he get? How could he not love the way you say his name, reaching towards him, fingers catching on his belt buckle as you ask him if he’s ready?

“Not yet,” he whispers. The hoarseness of his voice, the way it’s dropped several octaves from merely seeing you on his bed, sends a jolt of electricity through you. You’re about to ask why, but the reverence in how he’s looking at you makes you not want to break this spell.

He trails his fingers along your calves. Gently, he unhooks your legs from his waist. His fingers shake as he struggles with the straps of your heels, but when you go to help, he catches your wrist.

“No,” he repeats, “not yet.”

You keep quiet and merely watch as your best friend, the man of your dreams, takes his time in undressing you. One wedge, then the other, falling off your feet with a dull clank! on the carpet. Keisuke kisses your ankles, then starts kissing up your calves, then your knees, then your thighs—

The anticipation has you dripping. Your thighs instinctively clench when he gets to your hem, hands curling into fists by your sides. Your panties are uncomfortably glued to your cunt, sticky in a way you’ve never been before, and he’s not even lifted your dress to see yet.

Keisuke rests his chin atop your thigh. “Please,” he pleads—pleads—“Let me—baby, let me. I wanna taste you.”

Today is not the day you learn to refuse him.

Your muscles shake from anticipation as you slowly spread your legs, but that’s not enough for him. “Baby, no, I—I wanna hear you say it.” His voice is soft, shaky. A little hesitant, as if he’s not sure if this’ll ruin the moment but he knows he has to be sure—he has to hear you say it… if only to revel in the desperate way you say his name.

“Keisuke, please… whatever you want, have it. Just—touch me, Kei, please, I need you—“

“Need you too, sweetheart,” he praises, running his lips along your thigh. “Gonna—gonna have you now, okay?”

His fingers still shake when he lifts your dress, exposing the black lace of your panties to him. At first glance, he can’t tell that they’re absolutely soaked—but that doesn’t stop the way you start to squirm in embarrassment as he just… stares. His thumbs dig into the fat of your hips, broad palms keeping your thighs spread and pinned to the bed.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s not breathing.

“Kei?”

He doesn’t look up.

His grip gets tighter. His eyes narrow. Before you get the chance to ask him what’s wrong, he growls, “you wore these for him?”

You blink. That is not what you were expecting, but before you can defend with they’re my lucky pair, or I wanted to feel sexy, or it doesn’t matter, I’m here with you—Keisuke’s ripped them off.

You yelp when the fabric bites your skin, failing to wriggling away as Keisuke strips them off your ankle. “What the fuck—“

“I’ll get you a new pair,” he mutters. “Shit—I’ll get you a hundred pairs, but you get rid of every single set someone else has seen. Got it?”

Your lips purse. He’s being unreasonable, you think, and totally ridiculous… but no matter how much your brain tries to reason he’s out of line, your fluttering pussy doesn’t get the message. Your slick is evident now, exposed and iridescent in the moonlight, dripping down your hole and slowly saturating the sheets.

Usually, Keisuke wouldn’t let it go. Usually, he’d keep picking at it until you cave, or at least recognize you heard him—but usually, he’s not staring at your cunt.

Right now, he can’t focus on anything but how desperate he is to be inside you.

“Yeah, think ya got it… fuck, babe… seems like you like it when I say shit like that, hunh?”

You whimper slightly, having to bite your lip to keep it together. Slowly, he drags the tip of his finger from the sheet beneath you up along your wet folds. He barely touches you, but when he pulls his finger away, it’s covered in a layer of you.

He brings it to his face with a cocky grin, watching how the pad shines in the moonlight. “You always this wet, or am I special?”

“Shut up,” you shoot back, preparing to bring up how special he found you earlier—only to immediately throw your head back and moan as Keisuke buries his face between your legs.

There is no preamble. There are no more teasing quips or pauses; Keisuke dives in like a man starved, and the only thing that can sate his appetite is you.

He starts with broad strokes, gathering as much of your slick as he can. He’s messy, messier than you, and soon there’s more of his spit than your wetness between your legs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned and spread on his shoulders as he continues to feast, thumbs spreading your lips open so he can truly devour you.

When Keisuke starts suckling on your clit, your fingers knot in his hair. You moan, loud and whiney and plead for him to keep going as your orgasm starts to boil—faster than before, more powerful too, with greater ease than you’ve ever managed to pull from yourself.

Keisuke brings a hand to your clit, quickly swiping the puffy bud with the pad of his thumb as he focuses his tongue on your fluttering hole. In and out, up and down, the warm muscle drives you insane. Your grip on his hair must hurt, but he says nothing; he focuses on making you feel as good as humanly possible, never once letting up, not even when you start to choke, “Kei—I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he commands. “C’mon, pretty girl, make a mess on my face, wanna feel how you clench, wanna make ya cry—”

It sends you over the edge.

With a scream of his name, your back arches. Your thighs try closing around him but still, he doesn’t let up. He keeps pace, tongue-fucking you, lapping up all the juice that spills out as his thumb continues caressing your clit until you do start crying and you do have to plead, “no—no more, Kei, can’t—“

“Can,” he corrects—but he stops. His hand stills, moving so that the warmth of his palm covers that sensitive bundle of nerves, and only then does he stop lapping at your hole. He presses a gentle kiss to your sex, then to your inner thigh. “But I’ll be nice tonight, sweetheart. Only ‘cause I love you, though.”

You stare at the ceiling as you catch your breath. The paint is peeling in the corner. The glow-in-the-dark stars you helped him put up when he first moved in are dim. The walls are covered in motorcycle posters. A calendar set to the wrong month hangs above a salvaged desk, covered with various veterinary textbooks, barely legible notebooks, a handful of empty beer cans, and a handful of DVD cases, one of which you know is Dyslexia; How to Read When Even Your Brain Doesn’t Want You To. A neon sign advertising Margaritaville is unlit beside his closet. A pile of clothes that didn’t make it to the hamper rests beneath it.

The room is so—Keisuke , you feel at peace, even as your limbs turn to jelly.

Your heart is racing faster than if you’d just run a marathon. “Thought—thought you said you hadn’t—“ you try panting, but it’s too much effort, too soon. You end up collapsing back on the bed, head swimming with euphoria.

“Said I hadn’t had sex,” Keisuke corrects as he stands, your limp thighs falling to the either side of his waist, “not that I’ve never eaten pussy.” He scoffs, as if that should’ve been obvious. “I’m not an idiot, babe. I respect women enough to know where the clit is.”

A little laugh escapes you. The fan motor is the only other sound. It’s cool, your nipples perk beneath your bra, but you’re still hot. Still hyper aware that Keisuke is just a few inches away, watching your bare cunt flutter and beg him for more.

Keisuke does love you. You know he does, because he gives you time to catch your breathe before he starts up again, only pressing soft kisses to the inside of your legs and quiet offerings of, “so fuckin’ pretty” and “can’t believe you’re here” and, your favorite, the only one you respond to: “so in love with you.”

“I love you too, Kei.”

He runs his hands along your sides, slowly taking more and more of your dress up with it until the entire thing is resting by your neck. He makes quick work of your bra, not even needing you to sit up as he unhooks it and lifts the cups away.

He says nothing; just stares at your naked body with the same adoration and awe he held when taking off your shoes.

“You’re—so beautiful,” he whispers. “Y’know that? So—so fuckin’ beautiful.”

He bends down and takes a pert nipple in his mouth. You whine, hate yourself for doing so, then whine again as his free hand starts tweaking your other nipple. He runs his tongue over every inch of your chest, making sure you’re covered with his spit and hands, traversing as much of you as he can.

When he gets to your face, he smiles. “You’re mine, yeah? All mine?”

Your fingers run over his jaw, over the bruise that’s barely discernible in the moonlight. No one’s touched you like him; no one’s even kissed you like him, either, and you’re not sure if it’s the “Keisuke” of it all making you feel like this, or if this is how it’s supposed to have felt all along.

The answer comes easily.

“Yeah,” you agree with a smile of your own, “yeah, m’all yours, Keisuke. Pretty sure I always have been.”

“Always, hunh?” He holds you gently now; a stark contrast to the hungry way he’d just devoured you. “That mean you’ve always loved me, too?”

Your breathy yes is lost in a gasp when his hand slides between your legs. Gently, he prods a single thick finger into your virgin hole, shallowly dipping in and out. “Never had someone else in here, hunh? M’gonna be your first?”

“Y-yes,” you repeat, voice cracking. Your eyes flutter close as he keeps fingering you. You’d had fingers in there before, but none like this. Your own couldn’t compare, two of yours barely able to stretch the way one of his does… and he’s not even going all the way. Not even knuckle deep as he explores only the shallows, letting you adjust.

Your face scrunches when he adds a second.

“This okay?” he asks. You look at him, hand wrapping around his neck as you bring his forehead down to meet yours.

You nod, then remember what he said earlier, how you could feel his cock jumping when you were sweet and needy for him. “Yeah, Keisuke. Yes—yes, I want this. I want you.”

He cups your face and trails soft kisses from corner to corner, breaking apart only to lift your dress and bra over your head. They’re carelessly thrown to the floor, you have half a mind to scold him that it’ll wrinkle—but when he goes back to your cunt, two fingers halfway in, all you’re able to say is the harsh inhale of his name.

They’re shallow, never pushing in deep enough to hurt, slowly stretching your rim to its max. He goes a little deeper, then starts scissoring them, and it becomes nearly impossible to believe he hasn’t done this before.

“No—no way you’re a virgin,” you hiss when Keisuke’s lips travel to your breast. He alternates between sucking hickeys and kneading them while staring at the way your cunt sucks him in, never stopping his ministrations.

Keisuke lets out a short scoff and shifts. “You literally made me cum my pants like a teenager.”

“Then how—“

“I told ya, babe, I respect women,” is his only reply. The only one he’s willing to give, at least, because he starts paying more attention to your tits than what questions are spilling his way.

You feel like you’ve got to be ready when he adds a third, and you say as much—only for Keisuke to meet your gaze with a cocky grin. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re gonna thank me for this.”

It can’t be much longer until he deems you ready, but it feels like forever, even if he keeps you distracted from the slight burn between your legs by playing with your breasts, sucking on your throat, praising you.

“Taking m’fingers so well, pretty thing. You’re such a good girl f’me, can’t believe you made me wait this long…”

“You didn’t tell me either,” you scold. He curls his fingers mid-way through your sentence, rubbing against a sensitive spot you’ve never been able to find on your own. You keen his name, hand snapping down to catch his forearm. He pauses.

“Too much?”

Slowly, you shake your head, eyes watering. “Please, Kei, I—I want you to fuck me.”

Keisuke presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Never could say no to you, sweetheart.”

If you could think clearly, you’d start listing all the times he has denied you, starting with just a few seconds ago—but him withdrawing his fingers leaves you feeling too empty to do much but pout.

When he pulls away, you chase after him, only for him to shake his head with a fond grin. “How am I supposed to fuck you if you won’t let me take my pants off?”

With hot cheeks, your lips twist. “You were the one who wanted to fuck on your bike, and then in the hall—what, were you planning on stripping naked then, too?”

You’re rewarded with a very rare, very endearing blush. He sits back on his knees and rubs his neck, eyes dropping from yours—then his lip curls in a smirk. “With how wet you got, seems like you wanted me to. What—you like the idea of that? Getting fucked in public? Don’t worry, sweetheart, maybe we’ll try that one day…” He laughs at the way you squirm, but he’s not wrong; your cunt clenches at the thought.

“You’re such a dick.” Your hands reach for his belt, fumbling slightly as you try to undo it. Keisuke’s hands take over, getting rid of the black leather in seconds.

“Your dick,” he corrects, hands back on you, gently laying you back against his pillows, trailing over your now completely naked body, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. You roll your eyes but say nothing, heart in your throat, pussy pulsing in anticipation.

He straightens, taking in the display in front of him. Taking in you.

You sit up slightly, chewing your lower lip. He’s beautiful, but even more so in the moonlight. It illuminates his pale skin, almost making him glow in the darkness of the rest of his room. Obsidian hair falls in a straight sheet around his flushed cheeks, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Violet and red marks adorn his neck and chest. His abs flex when he watches the way your eyes trail down; down the inlet between them, down the stern jut of his prominent v-line, over the faint trail of dark hair that disappears into the band of his jeans.

His fingers—the ones just inside you—hover on the button. They’re covered in your slick, resting just above a bulge that looks absolutely delicious, one that you know he can’t wait to bury inside you—but still, he hesitates.

“I love you, Keisuke,” you say. He smiles. It’s the only further confirmation he needs before he’s pushing off the bed and pulling down his jeans and underwear in one go.

The others have lied about a lot—like Baji’s lack of virginity—but the size of Keisuke is not one of them.

Your jaw drops as you push to your knees, staring at Keisuke’s cock like it’s the first you’ve ever seen. It’s not, and technically speaking, it’s not even the first time you’ve seen his—but that time in the shower, when it was hanging heavily between his legs and you only caught a glimpse… apparently, that was him soft.

Keisuke hard is more impressive than any porn you’ve seen. So heavy that it can barely support its own weight, even with all the blood rushing through it, and so wide around even Keisuke, with his broad palms and lanky fingers, doesn’t dwarf it.

A thick bead of pre slips out the tip, trailing along the bulging vein that disappears under Keisuke’s hand as he starts to stroke it.

“This… is where the others tapped out,” he says slowly, taking in the way you watch. “I mean—not that I’m thinking about them—but I just—“

“You’re big.”

Keisuke chokes on a laugh. “So I’ve heard. Pretty virgin like you wouldn’t know any better though, would you?”

You give him a withering glare. “I’ve sucked dick before, asshole. You’re big.”

Keisuke’s jaw clenches. “Yeah? Go on, then. Show me how you’ve sucked dick.”

Later, you’ll tease him for how jealous he got, and later, you’ll revel in the possessive way he determines to erase every other touch from your memory—but now, you obediently crawl towards him, one of your smaller hands overlapping his, and you take control.

You press a soft kiss to his flushed tip. It’s larger than your lips, his pre a salty gloss as you kiss again and again—Keisuke grips your hair. “Suck.”

It’s as much a plea as it is a command, one you can’t ignore. You take him,—just the tip—in your mouth, tongue swirling over his warm head as your hand replaces his on the rest of his dick. Your fingers barely touch, and no matter how you adjust, how you lay your palm or spread your fingers… there’s still at least an inch of him exposed.

He hisses, nearly drowning out the lewd, wet sound your pussy makes as it clenches around nothing.

“This—turning you on?” he says, as if his cock isn’t twitching obscenely against your tongue. “Fuckin—sucking on a big cock making you wet?”

You let go with a wet pop! and bat your eyelashes at him. You know exactly what you’re doing when you say, “No, Kei. I’m this wet ‘cause of you.”

With a groan, Keisuke pulls your head back to his dick and thrusts in, sliding as far as you’ll let him before you start to gag. “That’s—that’s it, sweetheart, get it nice and wet.”

He holds you there for a moment, waiting until you tap on his thigh before sliding out. Your eyes are teary, saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth. Deftly, you twist your wrist while catching your breath. His fingers go from knotting in your hair to petting the back of your head.

“You keep doing that, I’m gonna bust,” he warns, but his fond smile gives him away.

You merely smile. “Telling me you’ve never had your cock sucked, Kei?”

His lip curls in a snarl, which disappears with a groan when you take him in your throat once more. Slowly, lips pursing around him, tongue flicking along the sensitive underside of his cockhead as you try going as far as you can. Your jaw is already starting to ache, but you’re determined to prove yourself.

“Not—like this,” he moans, pushing your head a little further down. Your lips split in a smile, and you raise your hand to start fondling his balls—a trick that’s always gotten you success before—but before you make contact, Keisuke is sliding out and grabbing your jaw. He’s breathing heavily, pupils blown out with lust. He stares at your lips then leans forward, not flinching at the taste of himself on you.

“Wanna fuck you now,” he mumbles. You wrap your arms around his neck and start to lean back, nodding.

“Want you to fuck me too,” you agree. One of Keisuke’s muscular thighs slides between your legs, easing them apart. He keeps kissing you, letting you fall softly against his pillows while he keeps stroking his member, slick with your spit.

He taps the tip of his cock against your clit. You hiss in surprise, eyes closing shut at the sudden sensation of pleasure that rushes through you. “Let me know if it hurts,” he says quietly. He grips his cock right beneath the head, guiding it through your slick folds, getting as much of your fluids on him as he can.

He’s torn between needing to see the way you suck him in, and the need to squeeze his eyes shut. The sight of you alone, legs spread on either side, pussy gushing because of him, covering in marks because of him, mewling his name as you beg him to fuck you—it’s almost enough for him to cum on the spot.

Faintly, honks echo from the street below. It’s amazing that in this instant, as your world is about to change forever and for the better, everyone else is going about their business like nothing’s happening. They’re catching a late-dinner with their partner; walking home from a late-night meeting that could’ve been an email; swinging by the grocer’s to pick up snacks and drinks to share with their friends… The whole world is continuing on, just beyond that window, but for you and Keisuke… it’s as if time’s stopped.

The world is only real for the two of you.

He bends down to kiss you, making sure to pour every ounce of love and care he has into this one. You respond just as sweetly, reveling in the power of this moment, this one decision that will irrevocably tie you together forever, the way you were always meant to be.

He loves you, you love him, and there’s nothing else that matters.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod, then echo, “ready,” and he puts it in; just the tip, spearing past your tight hole. The two of you let out a synchronous gasp.

It’s even more than three of his fingers; warm, too, and thick, softer but also harder and full—you’re so, so, so full as he slowly edges in. It hurts—it feels good—it burns—you need more—

“Baby,” Keisuke pants. He’s let go of his cock, letting just the first inch or so rest comfortably within your walls. You feel him twitch, feel how tight his fingers dig into the sheets on either side of you so he doesn’t add more bruises to your ever-growing collection. “Baby, talk to me. Tell me—are you—are you okay?”

You whimper slightly when he sinks a little further. Eyes scrunching, your fingers digging into his thighs as you try to even your breath. “It—it’s so—“ you try saying, but it’s like you can feel him in your stomach, the pressure tightening all the way up your throat and cutting you off.

“So—good,” Keisuke gasps. He does the best he can, really, but you—you’re so—warm, and wet, and inviting—the place you’re joined might be the best thing he’s ever felt–ever seen. He slides a little further, presses a kiss to wherever he can reach as he waits until your chest stops heaving as horribly. He tries telling you he loves you, he really tries telling you how amazing you are, how perfect you are, how good you feel—but all that comes out are choked, half-sentences that fade into groans.

Tears prick at your lash line by the time he’s securely sheathed in you. Your fingers dig into his back, trying to pull him flush to your chest and bury his head in your neck so he can’t see. You know how he’ll feel; he’ll pull out and say he’s sorry, that he never meant to hurt you and it’s not worth it and he won’t try again–and that’s not what you want. You just need some time to adjust, that’s all.

You never realized how empty you were.

Keisuke lifts up from the crook of your neck when the first tear slides against his cheek. “M’sorry,” he breathes, kissing one eye, then the other, licking the tear tracks and kissing you again. “M’sorry, I don’t wanna hurt—“ His arms shake on either side of you. The urge to start shifting his hips is sinful, but he doesn’t. He can’t, not until you're okay, not until you tell him it’s okay.

“It’s—okay,” you breathe. Your face says otherwise, but really… it’s okay. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck, offering him a little smile as you shift your hips ever-so-slightly against his. “I’m—I’m okay, baby, really. Just—just go slow.”

Keisuke kisses you. Slowly, deeply, spreading your lips with his as he gently pulls out and slides back in, heeding your directive to go slow. It hurts, it still hurts, is it supposed to hurt like this—but right when you’re about to give up, right when you’re about to tell him it's too much and maybe you should stop… it starts to feel good.

Not just full, but satisfying, bumping against the back of your messy cunt with every stroke. The ridge of his cockhead catches your insides in a way that makes your toes curl, and before long, your legs are wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Gods—fuck, Kei, fuck—“ you hiss, burying your head in his shoulder, biting his collarbone to keep yourself from screaming. “Just—there, like that, don’t—fuck—“

“Thought you said you were a virgin,” he hisses. Your broken pleas of, I am, I am, I am—go unrecognized as he slowly picks up speed. “Virgin pussy—heh—always feel this—fuckin’ good?”

You moan, loud and unreserved, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. Your stomach burns. Your pussy clenches, but for the first time, there’s finally something to hold on to, finally something to fill you up—you’ve never been so full, never felt so good. The coil tightens in your stomach, made all the more tense by the fact there’s something inside— “Gonna— gonna cum, Kei, don’t—don’t stop, please—“

“Yeah, sweetheart? You gonna—gonna cum for me? Go on, cum f’me. Cum on my cock, baby, show me what we’ve been—been waitin’ for—“

You cry when your orgasm finally washes over you.

You’ve never climaxed this powerfully before, to the point that you’ve felt like—this. The world is empty besides the two of you. Bells ring in your ear as you struggle to keep your eyes open, your whole body floating. You feel everything and nothing; like you’re weightless but have never been so heavy in your life.

You gasp for air, fingers digging into Keisuke’s shoulders as his hips stutter a few more times then still. His moans into your ear as his own orgasms consumes him, painting your insides white, shooting so much it drips out of your spent pussy and starts to puddle between you.

He stays there for a moment. Lets his lips trace lazy patterns beneath your ear, still half-hard inside you, one hand gripping the back of your neck and the other holding your breast. Even though you’re spent, your hands delicately trail up and down his spine. Your breathing is heavy and your smile bright and you think you could stay right here forever.

The plastic stars one his ceiling smile down at you, and you imagine the ones outside are doing the same. ‘About time!’ they seem to say. After all these years, about time. There’s a shrill whistle of bus brakes, screeching to a halt; a muffled shout from one pedestrian to another. The fan creaks slightly, the cool air washing over you and helping calm the raging fire on your skin. The clock on Keisuke’s lopsided nightstand, made even with a stack of textbooks he never got to put to use, beeps at midnight: the end of one day, the start of forever.

Kei takes a deep breath and slides off, hissing as his sensitive cock is exposed to the cool air of his bedroom. He lays on his back, taking a hand and placing it over his eyes as he tries to calm his racing heart.

Your legs are sticky. They’re already getting sore. Your hips ache, your spine stretches, your chest burns—but you relish it. Kei’s breathing evens beside you.

Glancing, you check if he’s asleep—but with the way his forearm covers his eyes, you can’t tell. He looks even more like an angel now. Light, from a city just waking up, creeps past the curtains, illuminating slivers of his pale and flushed skin. He looks–relaxed. Content, even with the blush still coloring his high cheeks bones. His lips are parted, shallow gasps of air being sucked through them, but the longer you look, the more it looks like they’re curling in a smile.

His chest rises and falls steadily, and just when you start to think he might actually be asleep, the hand beneath your neck starts playing with your hair.

“Think it’s—always this good?” he asks breathlessly, pulling you in a little closer.

You pretend to think. He tilts his head, cracking an eye to look down at you curiously. You smile. “I don’t know. Think we better try again—y’know, just to be sure.”

Kei barks out a laugh and pulls you to his chest, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And right now, with the gentle light filtering through his open window, sweaty and smiling and with his cum dripping from between your legs to make a mess of his thigh, you are.

You play with the edges of his hair, sprawled lazily across his sweaty forehead. With a soft smile, he reaches for your fingers and pulls them to his lips. “Do you actually like it? My haircut, I mean. Pretty sure you liked the other stuff.”

You answer with a laugh, pressing a kiss to where the edges fall. “I love it.”

He grins and rolls over, pinning you to the mattress. The short locks make a curtain, hiding the two of you from anything but each other. “Good. Did it f’you.”

“For me?”

He hums and buries his face in your neck, delicately kissing the bruising skin. “Noticed your type. None of them had long hair, ’n I thought…”

With a pealing laugh, you grab his cheeks and bring his face to yours, smothering him with kisses. “Keisuke, you are such an idiot.”

He pretends to frown, but kisses you all the same. “Weren’t calling me that when I was making you scream earlier.”

“Kei,” you say, forcing him back so you can really meet his eyes, “short hair, long hair. No hair. The only kind of guy I’ve ever truly wanted has been you.”

Keisuke blinks. Short, thick lashes bat against those endlessly high cheekbones of his, and then he smiles. He lowers his lips to yours once more and gifts you a kiss; deep, slow. A kiss that’s been years in the making, that says all that your words have and then some.

“I love you,” he says, and you barely have time to say the same before he’s kissing you, hardening cock easily gliding back through your sticky folds, and you go for round two.

So... happy adventuring :) thank you for reading! if you made it this far… pls reblog, drop a comment, or leave an ask if you enjoyed!! I worked really, really hard on this, and it would mean the absolute world to me that, if y’all enjoyed it, you told me why. if you hated it, tell me why. if i made you cry or scream or fall in love or fierce fiercely full of disappointed rage, tell me why!! i won’t bite (unless you ask)!

hopefully the next adventure gets even better. thanks for reading!

#baji #keisuke baji x reader #baji x reader #baji smut #keisuke baji smut #baji x reader smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #keisuke baji x reader smut #tokyo rev smut

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zmb1eslut · 3 months

Text

Luke Castellan x hypnos!fem

tags: non-romantic relationship, fluff, Luke's pov.

summary: Luke Castellan was found by the way out his nightmares.

1,6k words

Luke remembered it quite clearly, the night in which the whole... something between them came to be what is now.

He was sweaty and drained, being the only wishful thought he felt brave to feed, for the air to reach his lungs so he could run a little further. He had lost all his will, and he was now running on the only thing stronger than his determination, his fear.

Both Titan and kid could feel it, that night he was fated to succumb to the torture. His mind had already given its last pleadful breath when his foot tripped and his face met the floor. And he now cannot phantom the thought of how different his life would be if he hadn't lifted his head, she hadn't been there.

Luke saw her sitting, with a blank expression on her face, looking down at him. His hand reached for her never expecting to actually be aid, she took it and pulled him towards her. Once they were close to each other she said to him in a bizarrely sweet voice "Your screams were getting too loud". That was the last time the girl acknowledged his presence, as well as the last time he felt that sort of fear.

Somi kept rescuing him like that every night. She never explained why. Luke never asked her either. He would only sit there in what he guessed were the girl's own dreams, and wake up in the morning with just a thin grasp of the events.

Most things about the dreams (and the dreamer herself), were awfully confusing for the swordman-boy. He felt like she looked at reality with an eager infatuation, like she knew that guy better than the arbitrary rules that defined him ever could. Being inside her mind perhaps was making a number on him. Perhaps that's why she at some point stopped posing as the spacey buzzed girl everyone meditated with at times, and held herself in a homely sort of normality he developed a liking for.

She showed a part of her no one else ever saw. Altough it would probably be more precise to say she eventually stopped hiding it. Being honest with himself, Luke admitted that he toyed with the idea of him having found her.

She acted exasperated, bored, mean. She behaved like any person he would never mistake for her on the other world would behave. Their exchange right now was especially out of character.

She had entered his dream, as every night. She stepped in front of him and pushed his shoulders down, when he fell, he was met with the softness of a bed. Tonight's dream was apparently on a room. "Sorry for the mess." She said to the boy's surprise. He wasn't opposed to a change on their routine.

"Kinda used to it and all." he said. She answered with an understanding nod. "Did anything happen?" the Hermes boy asked just to keep this anomaly alive, to which she sighed.

"Evan just left." Curiosity flourished on the boy's throat.

"Like the real one?" the girl took way too long to answer and started stroking his hair while she thought.

"No... the dream one. But I'm pissed at him. And that's a naptime dream" she answered as if it was obvious. Even more questions arose, so she explained "Those are the dreams you aren't supposed to watch." Huh...

"What dreams I'm not supposed to watch?"

"You know, Castellan." she really meant it, he didn't had a clue. She got close to him to whisper teasingly, even knowing no one would really be able to hear. "The inappropriate ones" Oh.

He understood fast though, making sense of what teenager needs usually were. "I was naive on that one, wasn't I?"

"I mean..." she said chuckling while walking away from him. She sat down on a chair in front of a desktop. The place was humorously colorful.

"Ok. But like... Evan? Does that happen often?" He asked almost gossiply.

"I mean! Not anymore! He's a total prick." that made him laugh.

"Is he?" Luke asked, enjoying seeing her so annoyed, especially as he wasn't the cause.

"Yes. And you know what? I hate that, I hate this. Cause he goes around just getting the fuck he wants, and then pretends he 'didn't mean it like that'. Then I get mad, and he thinks I'm pretty when I'm mad, and I get pissed off when he says that, and then I'm horny when I'm pissed. And you know what? He doesn't deserve horny me." Sometimes she just was that unexpectedly honest. Luke just listened amused. She looked up and let out a frustrated groan. "And now I have to take care of you." That made him laugh, but he didn't want her to know that.

"C'mon I'm not that difficult" he pretended to be offended.

"No. But right now you're truly inconvenient" He put his hands up in the air as his sign of surrender before laying down in the bed. She stayed silent for a minute and Luke almost thought they went back to normal. The girl usually was quiet and still, looking lost into the air, or, only the contrary, highly invested in a task and barely paying him attention. Now she was neither, the chair was slowly spinning with her wearing a childish expression. She controlled every aspect of every scenario he had observed, and even when she didn't feel like going strong at it, she would prove her domain by popping something for him to distract himself. He took note of that when he saw a ray of sunlight entering the window, leaving a path she was now following in his direction. She was standing in front of the side of the bed again. "Sit." she said, way too used to having control over here. And, listen, he wasn't about to oppose an emotional all powerful being. Once he stood straight, she st looking taller than him, barely. She supported her arms on the top of his head. And sighed again. "I hate men".

"Oh, they are terrible" he teased.

She stayed silent for a bit, he was just being used as a table. Then he heard her. "What do you think about... weird". He understood perfectly.

"I've met so many demi kids, that word just simply lost meaning at some point"

"Ok, then..." she took a step back and looked at him now, lowering her head a bit. "do you consider me pretty?" He took a second to look at her, then shrugged and nodded. "Great then... tell me when to stop." She said while sitting on his lap, with both her legs at his left side, and reaching for his left hand. The girl held it against her face and started nuzzling against him. He couldn't ignore the thought that her actions weren't sexy at all, not as much as they were needy. She was like a cat looking for attention, and he truly didn't mind. He lifted his right hand to caress her hair, and she gave in to the touch. She had closed her eyes and moved the hand of her face down to her outer thigh.

His strong hand gripped her skin, almost performatively. He flirted using a lower voice. "What do you want?" his nose under her jaw, his breath against her neck.

The answer came only with her voice, as she didn't even bother to open her eyes or explore his touch. "I'll let you know when you're doing it wrong." Moody, bossy, and assertive. This was not more than a game for them. This was just a caprice. What is wrong with wanting things that feel right?

The girl held onto his left bicep and hid her face on his neck. They just stayed like that for a couple minutes. Somi hiding on his arms when Luke faintly felt the scent of her hair.

"Why did you rescue me?" wasn't enough to disrupt the comfortability of their scene.

"I already told you why."

"I wasn't screaming tonight."

Then the silence prolonged itself for longer than he would have chosen. The girl just gently pushed his body with hers, making them lay on the bed, side by side, looking into the ceiling.

"We... don't really know each other." He agreed with the sentiment on silence. "But, we both have been here for years so I know you know me." Of course he did. "And everybody knows you." He felt like he didn't quite know what she meant by it. "Luke 'the greatest swordsman in the last 300 years' Castellan, a born leader whose smile has infatuated half our population of half-bloods, who is always there to help when someone gets hurt."

Luke analyzed those words for a couple of seconds. Apparently not enough seconds. "Do you... like me?" She laughed.

"I don't mean it like that!" She then took a pause and moved her head to look at him, he followed. "What I'm trying to say is. There are so many children looking up to you, learning from your effort, going to sleep smiling because they know you'll be there to protect them, and when they fail... you don't make them feel like they failed you. I guess for a second I realized how much our spirit was relying on you. I thought maybe you needed someone to rely on too. I'm sorry if I'm making it awkward now." He didn't know how to answer, her eyes on his were feeling heavy for a second so he escaped by closing them. He didn't know how to answer so he just breathed and hugged her, hoping she wouldn't tease him about his heart rate. She didn't. She hugged him back.

#luke castellan fluff #luke castellan #pjo tv show #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan is my sweet boy #and if I can't fix him then I'll join the war #yes all my ocs will be nd coded #that's the point

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boltupbitches · 4 months

Text

Enemies to Lovers - Joe Burrow

Angst -> to fluff

Joe couldn’t put into words precisely why he felt the need to say something every time she entered the room. The new physical therapy assistant was the sweetest person - at least according to several guys on the team who joked with her and would talk endlessly during their sessions.

Joe? Well, he shot himself in the foot the first day they met when she had bumped into him coming out of the exam room he was walking past. He was having a bad day, his calf was still sore and acting up, and on top of that, he had just had a heated conversation with his parents over his ex-girlfriend.

He remembered snapping at the new girl, “Can you watch where the fuck you’re walking?”

He hadn’t stuck around to hear her response, but after that, she went out of her way to avoid him or just outright ignore his presence unless absolutely required to talk with him. If she did have to, it was short, monotone sentences with a blank expression.

It pissed Joe off to no end. What pissed him off worse though was that HE caused this odd tension between them with his outburst that day. He had attempted to track her down a few times afterward to apologize but each time he had approached she’d take off the other way.

Now, every time he saw her, he felt his face twist into a scowl and frustration take over. It pissed him off and he wasn’t sure why his face flushed and his heart rate sped up at the sight of her. He knew his attitude made her uncomfortable but he couldn’t figure out why he was feeling the way he was.

It was Sam of all people who brought it up one day during a post-workout. “I just think it’s odd how mad you get when you see her. I mean, what is the problem?”

“I don’t know..” Joe muttered as he took a swig of his water. “She just always acts like she’d rather be somewhere else than near me. It’s like I’m dirt beneath her shoes.”

“I think she probably looks at it in reverse,” Sam said after a moment.

Joe looked at him questioningly.

Sam raised his brows at him before smirking. “It was you after all who said you yelled at her the first day you met her. And I’ve seen how you act towards her when she’s in the same room as you. The girl thinks you hate her guts. It’s likely why she’s always trying to get away from you. You’ve been a dickhead to her, Joe.” Sam said, straight to the point.

Joe mulled over what Sam said after he bit down the immediate urge to debunk his words. He couldn’t deny it - it was true. He had been awful to her and he needed to make it right. In the few interactions they had, either direct or indirect, he had been the unpleasant asshole. This all stemmed from a misunderstanding on his part. Now she thought he hated her.

He knew he didn’t hate her. How could he? He barely knew her. Yet, his ire with her made no sense to him.

“Yeah.. you’re right.” He finally admitted. He looked over to an amused Sam, “What should I do to make this right?”

“Well,” Sam scratched his chin as he thought, “You could corner her and apologize. Explain that you’re not normally like that, but still, it was no excuse for being a dickhead to her. Don’t ask for forgiveness because that’s corny - she’ll decide when she forgives and it’s ok.” Sam went silent again before grinning suddenly to himself, “And stop glaring at every man who approaches her and talks with her. You’re way too obvious, dude.”

“What do you mean by ‘obvious’?” Joe demanded.

“You like her,” Sam answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You act all pissy when a guy talks to her, then you follow her around the room with your eyes, and I’m pretty sure you are one step away from marking her like a damn dog marks his spot. It is so obvious that you have a crush on her.”

“That’s - that’s… not true,” Joe sputtered out.

“It is,” Sam said.

The two sat quietly once more, one of them completely lost in thought over his feelings, and the other one amused that his good friend was so intelligent but couldn’t read the situation at hand to save his life.

“Fuck,” Joe groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I do.”

“What?” Sam goaded.

“I do like her. Fucking hell, man. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She thinks I’m an absolute asshole now though,” Joe mumbled with his face still in his hands.

Sam thankfully had some information to make his day, “I have an appointment with her at 2 pm. I’m going to show up late. You can go in and talk to her. She doesn’t have any clients from 1-2 pm and will likely be on desk duty for the head PT. Go get cleaned up and you’ll have time to catch her.” Sam nudged his shoulder roughly with his hand.

Joe didn’t think twice, nor did he need any convincing as he got off the weight bench he sat at and took off to the shower rooms.

He didn’t want to waste this opportunity.

—------------

Joe breathed deeply as he stood outside the room she was working in. 205. He had double-checked twice to make sure it was the one Sam said she’d be working in.

He lifted his hand and knocked firmly.

A few moments passed and he heard footsteps approach from the other side of the door. The door opened and she appeared on the other side with a startled look on her face once she registered who was knocking.

She stared quietly for a moment and then cleared her voice, “umm… hi, Joe - er Mr. Burrow. How can I help you?”

Joe felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of her voice before responding, “Joe’s fine… um... do you have a few minutes? I was hoping we could talk really quick.” He smiled nervously.

She stared once more, visibly put off by the friendliness he was exuding. She glanced down the hallway and back, looking for some sign that he was playing a prank before coming to the conclusion that he was serious. “Uh - sure. Come on in.” She opened the door and moved out of the way so his large frame could pass through.

Joe shuffled awkwardly for a minute before taking a seat in front of the small desk in the corner of the room.

She came around to the other side where her laptop was facing and quietly shut it as she sat down.

It was awkwardly silent.

Joe cleared his voice and spoke up, “Listen... Rachel, I’m sorry for how much of an asshole I have been. Not just the first day we met, but also every time after that. I was going through a rough time when we collided that day but that was no excuse for how I spoke to you. I hope we can work together and that you’ll consider giving me a chance.” He smiled nervously.

Rachel nodded at him and remained quiet for a moment. “I appreciate the apology, Joe. I won’t lie - I’ve been really put off and uncomfortable with how you treated me. I don’t understand why you continued to be so unwelcoming to me after one instance in time.” She looked at him curiously.

Joe nodded with a serious expression on his face as he listened. “I was mostly mad at myself for feeling like I made things bad between us - and I did. It snowballed and I just kept feeling more frustrated - not at you but with myself and how I messed up that day. The truth is,” his cheeks flushed red, “I was jealous of how naturally you got along with others on the team but I somehow messed up any friendship we could have had from the get go. It was never you. It was all me and being in my head. I’m very sorry, Rachel, for making you feel unwelcome. It is not an excuse -”

“Just an explanation?” She finished for him.

He nodded.

They were quiet once more before she spoke once more. “Well, since we’ll be working together a lot,” She stuck her hand out to him, “My name is Rachel and I am one of the physical therapist assistants. It’s nice to be working with you, Joe.”

Joe grinned and shook her hand, “It’s nice to be working with you too, Rachel.” It took him a minute to realize he held her hand a little long before he quickly let go, his cheeks still flushed from earlier. “Sam said he was going to be late in getting here today - he needed to talk to the DC really quick. Did you want to get coffee together afterward at the cantina?” He asked nervously.

Rachel smiled and nodded, her own cheeks now flushed, “Sure. I would love to. It won’t be until 3 pm though.”

Joe nodded, “That’s fine. I need to go talk to Zac anyways. I’ll swing back around then.” He got up and stretched before heading for the door.

Joe paused and turned back to Rachel, a small smile on his face, “Thanks, Rachel… for giving me a chance.”

Rachel returned the smile, “Of course. We all have our days. Just don’t make a habit of it, Burrow.” She warned playfully.

He nodded and chuckled, “Right, right.” He looked back at her once more and said, “see you later.” And shut the door behind him.

He paused and released a heavy sigh of relief before fisting pumping and turning down the hallway only to encounter a grinning Sam.

“Went good, Shiesty? You look pretty stoked.”

Joe nodded a smile once more on his face, “She agreed to have coffee with me at 3 pm. So, don’t keep her waiting too long and holding it up, Hubbard.” He smacked his larger friend on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. For that, you’ll have to wait for 3:30 pm.” Sam winced and pretended to limp towards the door.

“Dude,” Joe called, “Don’t you dare!”

Sam turned and winked at him, “She’ll be done by 3 pm, lover boy,” before knocking and walking on into the room.

Joe stood there in the hallway alone for a moment, staring at the door. He couldn’t wait to go back there at 3 pm.

#joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow one shot #joe burrow imagines

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rojacatmisa · 12 days

Text

Starting over In Madrid

Chapitre 4 : Hell Clasico

Misa Rodriguez x Reader (Nicky/first person)

Chapter 1 ➤ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➤ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➤ Calmly panicking

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

"You don’t come after training because we’re still grounded ?"

Misa’s text made my heart lifted. With the Clasico and games abroad coming, I had a huge amount of work that was keeping me out of the stadium. I had shut myself in my office for three days now, importing, retouching photos, thinking about the next games’s visuals… Due to the fact that resisting the goalkeeper was becoming more and more difficult, I had to admit I was relieved to be able to avoid her.

I thought a moment about what to answer. As soon as she had stood up from that bench on the evening at the park, Misa had been her funny self again. She had joked happily. We had said goodbye at the entrance of the parking. Like friends do. If she had been disappointed, she had been hiding it well.

And now she was texting about me for not coming to our photo meeting in a casual yet flirty way again…

"Feels like I’m the grounded one… work is having me trapped in my office!" I texted back.

"👉🤓"

"🫠👋"

She started typing and stopped. Her text bubble didn’t reappeared. I sighted. I hated having to be distant with her. I sighted again and buried myself back into work.

Fifteen minutes later, loud erratic knocks boomed against the door of my office. "What…?". Without waiting, Misa, Hayley and Sofie burst into the room. "Here she is ! You believed to could get rid of us that easy Nicky?" Hayley asked while the three girls came around my desk. Misa had bring a ball and severals biscuits with her. "What are doing here?!" I said already annoyed. I had a feeling they weren’t here to help me…

"We’re checking if you’re still Nicky and not a robot." Misa dropped the biscuits on my desk and started to play with her ball, making it rebound between her foot and thigh. Sofie was leaning toward my computer’s screen. "Do you have new photos of me?". Hayley was observing my cameras under every angles. "I’ve never seen this one, would you recommend it Nicky?" The dull sound of the ball rebounding rhythmically was constantly filling the room. I wasn’t believing how fast they had created such a mess.

"Guys, a girl needs to focus right now!" I said, eyes closed, a hand on my forehead. "Oh, you can keep working, don’t mind us." Hayley had taken a camera and was back at taking pictures. Sofie joined Misa and they went passing each other the ball. There was no way I was going to be able de concentrate in this chaos.

Edit just ten more photos tonight. I said to myself. I grabbed back my pencil and graphic tab, opened a photo of Olga striking, and started to erase an unwanted grass twigs on one of her socks.

On the corner of my eye, I saw Misa’s face approaching the screen while chewing a mouthful of biscuits. "What’s this? Are you drawing?" She pointed at my tablet. The sound of the ball was still resounding, Sofie had taken over. A few crumbles fell off the goalkeeper’s mouth. "Misa! The keyboard !" I blowed hard on it to make them go away. "Perdòn!" She stood back and tried to swallow her snack. She gestured to me to explain again.

That girl can be such a pain !

"No, I can’t draw, I’m just correcting details. A pen is more precise that a mouse". I said to her.

"Oh vale ! Can I try It ?" I glared at her. "I mean not now! When you have the time. And… I can teach you football in exchange". She ended up showing an innocent smile.

That girl will drive me mad!

"Misa! Leave Nicky alone and come to my IG Live, the fans wants to see you !" Sofie called from the farthest corner.

"Coming! Nicky, take a biscuit, son muy buenos!"

They kept going like this until they were forced to leave with me. I had painfully managed to do half the work I wanted to be over. Tomorrow is another day, they say.

***

Alas, next day was just the same. They came after their practice and occupied themselves more loudly than ever until my boss finally came to have them go away. With all of that, it was miracle I had finished everything at a rather early time on the eve of the Clasico. That meant I could attend the motivation speech that followed today’s training session.

Sitting in the stands, the speech wasn’t captivating after all. Maybe I hadn’t enough knowledge of football to really get it but I found it lasting forever. The players weren't into it either. Olga’s legs were showing signs of impatience. Linda was slowly drifting. But despite my tiredness, I wanted to check on Misa and Hayley, so I kept waiting.

I caught them at the building exit. I could sensed their nervousness behind the frank smiles they both gave me as a greeting.

"Hey Nicky, great speech eh..?" Hayley hugged me, she was so tensed. "Thanks for waiting but I need go home. I’m off, girls, see you tomorrow !" Misa patted her shoulder as she left and she roughly brushed her hair in return.

I turned to the goalkeeper. "How are you coping?" I asked her gently. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Estoy bien…", she answered peering down, her foot kicking at the floor vainly. She obviously wasn’t.

"Do you want to walk ?" I said without any back thoughts. I just wanted to help my friend to feel a bit better. She nodded.

We went touring the sport campus. We tried to talked about anything but the Clasico. At first, Misa was jumping in place every now and then to get rid of her stress. She relaxed when we started teasing each other.

"Misa, you can’t be with a ball without showing off! That’s insane!".

She smirked. "I’m athlete Nicky! Football is my life, of course I play with my ball all the time". She side glance at me, her mischievous tone and a satisfied smile back. "I did 65 rebounds yesterday."

I giggled "Is that much ?". Misa’s both disappointed and irritated air had me laughing out loud.

She slapped me on the arm "Jajaja, muy divertido! Enhorabuena Nicky! I don’t care about what a girl who work al Real and knows nothing about football thinks!"

It was my turn to faint annoyance. "I see trainer Misa is long gone before she even started… you are a very reliable person." She opened her mouth but was out of answer. I had had her sulking again. Grumpy Misa was one of my favorite.

I took a pleading look. "All right, you are the best Misa! Eres la mejor! Now, when do we start training ?" I was sure the training part would lift her spirit.

She side-eyed me again, still vexed. "Have you at least ever play football ?".

I pretended to search my mind. "It happened... twice maybe. First was at school, and second on the alley in front of my parent’s house".

She snorted. "No es posible…" She shook her head and continued, her voice suddenly curious. "For real, why did you want to work for a football club?" Her mocking tone gone had me really wonder how much I wanted to tell.

"I needed a change in my life. Anything was… not going well. I had a rough break up and was really unhappy in my previous job…"

"I’m sorry to hear that" she said with a concerned look.

I half laughed half sighted. "It’s ok now. I’m glad to be here. I really like Madrid". We were reaching the exit of the building again.

"Bueno… and do you like your new job too ?"

"Yes, I’m quite found of it… and of my new exasperating friends" I went back teasing her a little as we headed to the parking.

"I’m happy you’re good with us", she said, not reacting on the teasing part this time.

We arrived in the middle of the car park. I didn’t know if we were going in the same direction so I gestured on the right "I’m parked this way".

"I’m parked over here but I’ll go with you to your car, I can do with a bit more walk" she replied although she sounded far less stressed now.

We reached my vehicle and faced each other to say goodbye. "Thanks Nicky" Misa softy spoke. Her features were less drawn. The walk had soothed her a little.

"You’re looking better. Are you sure you’re ready to go home ?" I inquired one last time.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Instead she simply smiled and looked away. "Misa?" I frowned not knowing how to help her anymore.

Her head turned back to me. She bit her lip and her eyes stopped on mine. Then she slowly moved forward. My brows went up, having me frozen in a surprised look as she took my hands in hers, and I knew that that was it, that there’s was no escaping this time, and that I didn’t gave a fuck.

I half closed my eyes, my head slightly bowed while she leant over. My gaze stayed on her quivering mouth as she approached mine. At last, she pressed her lips. I let out a short breath. I was surprise by the tenderness of her kiss. Her mouth was soft, its movements slow.

I kissed her back. Letting relief fill me up. Completely abandoning myself as her taste and scent washed over me. Our noses brushed against each other. The grip of our hands tighten as we went on kissing, softly still, slowly still.

Finally, she withdrew her lips from mine, a soft smile lingering on them, having me missing their contact immediately. My eyes couldn’t leave hers.

"I’m ready now" she whispered. I exhale and shyly smiled and she released my hands. "Good night Nicky ». She stepped back and turned over. My gaze followed her until she disappeared behind the birch trees growing between the parking spaces.

***

Aitana Bonmati was running fast, dribbling everyone coming for her. She armed her strike and shoot between Ivana and Olga toward the penalty area. The ball landed right on Salma precise foot who immediately kicked hard at the upper left corner of the goal. Misa jumped with all her strength and the tip of gloves deflated the ball, preventing Barcelona to strike once again.

The match had been hard and demanding from the very beginning. Barça team had been pressing Real Madrid players, having them constantly cornered near their penalty area. Misa had already saved five goals but as Mariona Caldentey had outpasted all the defenders for the third time and send a particularly well aimed kick to Caroline Graham Hansen, the goalkeeper had gone on the wrong direction and the ball had rolled easily in the cage. Misa had sweared, gotten up, and send a long clearance skillfully recovered by Hayley. Hayley was a fast runner too. She had passed the ball to Athenea, who had dribble passed Irene Paredes and used the one second of disorganization to find Linda. The kick from Linda’s head had miraculously flied through the expert gloves of Cata Coll, and crashed on the net behind her, filling the stadium with unexpected joy.

Returning from the halftime, Barça had pressed harder harder without succeeding at scoring yet an other goal. After a clever discussion in locker room during the break, the real Madrid was holding well against them for the first time, Misa’s many saves putting and end to theirs brilliant sequences of passes. And the unbelievable had happened at de 78th min. Naomie had succeeded at loosing Alexia Putellas’marker to get the ball from Oihane’s throw-in. Her quick arched shot had found Olga on the left side, who had managed a shot worthy of the World Cup. She had stricken from her rather distant position straight at the right upper corner, giving Cata Coll an impossible job. The stadium had burst screaming, echoing Madrid players all hugging together to celebrate their first time ever leading Barcelona.

It was extra time when Misa’s body crashed on the grass again from saving Salma’s strike. The Madrid player were back at having a hard time. I could see they were physically drained, their feet barely touching the ball anymore.

They all took position, ready for the corner, Misa giving directions to her teammates as she prepared herself for the upcoming action. Salma struck. She crossed the ball back from the goal line. The ball descended on Alexia in a perfect neat curve before she sent it crashing to the net. Barcelona had come up to the score, victory slipping through the Madrid girls'fingers at the 95th minute. Now, the match was going extra time. I saw Misa down in her attempt to save to ball, kicking the grass with her fists in frustration. As well trained as they were, the team was exhausted. With Barça clearly dominating, the extra time was going to be a living hell.

Misa passed by me as she exit the tunnel to ran toward her goal after the short break. I took a shot of her face, a mix of deep concentration and extreme fatigue. My heart sank. I had been covering the match with other photographers from the start, trying hard to focus on my job rather than on the ongoing actions and the increasing pressure on Misa.

The game resumed. Madrid team formed two compact lines in front of the goal. They had received new guidelines: keep on defending and don’t take another goal at all cost. Their strategy, and Ivana’s agile foot prevented a new shot on target finding the net. The only two more attempts of Madrid met Cata’s gloves, her clearance sending the ball back on their half pitch again. But, they hold on again and again the entire the first half of extra time.

During the second, fouls and cramps multiplied on each sides, chopping the play in numerous sloppy actions and hardening the footballer’s job by giving them unnecessary minor injuries. Misa’s attempt to grab a shot by Mariona sent her rolling on ground and her knee hit the goal-post. The ball luckily found the cross-bar and was quickly cleared by Kathellen. But Misa was still down, grasping her knee between the puffy fingers of her gloves. I shuddered. No please! Let not it be a serious injury! I silently prayed. The medical staff came over after the referee had blown the whistle. With several of her teammates surrounding, I could barely see what was going on.

I waited, trying to breathe properly, not looking at the last picture I took of Misa, curled up on the grass, her features distorted by pain. After what was feeling like a hour, the med staff went away and the small crowd scattered, revealing Misa standing on her feet again, though she was breathing hard and slightly limping. I relaxed a little.

The goalkeeper settled back in front of her caged but she gave the ball to Ivana for her to do a long clearance. She clearly hadn’t the strength anymore. The ball was back in her penalty area in a heartbeat but the match had Madrid finally find the key to put up a very strong defence. When the whistle blew again, it was to put an end to the game at last.

The penalty shoot out would decide the winner of the Copa de la Reina. More than ever, the outcome of the match was now resting mostly on Misa’s shoulders.

The goalkeeper and the rest of the team gathered around the trainer near the bench. I crossed eyes with Misa and I smiled, my fist clenched up in the air to show her my support. She didn’t seemed to see me. Nothing exists apart from the game when she was playing.

Madrid opened the shoot out with Olga. She shot, scored. Cheers burst.

Misa jumped on her line. Caroline Graham Hansen scored as well.

Claudia kicked hard on her right but Cata had understand where she was aiming. Her body blocked the ball, having Barça yelling in triumph.

Aitana scored.

Athenea scored.

Mariona scored.

Hayley scored.

Last ball. All was resting on Misa. If she failed the ball, everything was over.

Alexia armed her leg. Kicked. The ball flew on the opposite of the goalkeeper.

It was it. Madrid had lost. I forgot to take pictures, focusing on the limp body of Misa still laying on her back, her gloves on her face. As the Barcelona players hugged together in victory, the sturdy figure of Alexia was crouched at Misa side, muttering to her words I could not hear. She heaved Misa to her feet, helped her taking off her gloves. I could see her face wet with tears, her eyes puffed and closed as she was still sobbing. They leaved the pitch, Alexia’s arm over Misa’s shoulders. One of other photograph was shooting restlessly at them while they headed toward the tunnel. I couldn’t suppress a surge of anger.

I got up, quickly took the steps that separated me from the man with the camera.

"Give her a rest ok ?!" I shouted in his direction. The man stared blankly at me, astonished. In addition to my strange behavior, he probably wasn’t speaking English.

Noticing my action, Misa and Alexia had stopped. When she saw me close, Misa lowered her head as if she couldn’t bear to look at me. Alexia stared kindly at me, guilt still her eyes as she knew she had partly caused the sadness of her friend.

"I can take her to the locker room if you want" I said, instantly shocked by my own words when I couldn’t leave my job.

Misa lifted her face again. Alexia looked at the goalkeeper to see if she was ok with that. Misa nodded and I took over Alexia to guide her through the tunnel.

I made Misa sat on the farthest bench of the locker room. Everything was quiet here, the screeches of the celebration only a distant echo. The goalkeeper had stopped crying. Her board shoulders and muscular body seemed so fragile somehow. I took a seat beside her, not knowing what to do now it was up to me to comfort her.

"I’m sorry" I simply said.

"We were so close!" she cried. "Let’s just go! I don’t want to be there, I don’t want the puta silver medal again!" She blown her nose hard and rubbed her red eyes with a towel laying by. Exhaustion was oosing from her at every levels.

"No Misa you can’t go" I responded and caught a surprised side eye, as surprise as she could be in her current state. "You can’t go because everything’s not about wining or being better or best ! You can’t go because football doesn’t have to be that. It’s not about the score, the cup or whatever. Football is an emotion, a battle, a shared experience. And first and foremost it’s a spectacle and you put on one hell of a show as a team and as a player tonight! If you go, nothing remain, it would mean nothing. You have to go back Misa."

Silence settled between us. I felt exposed and embarrassed by the words I had just spoken. It was ridiculous, saying obvious things like that to a seasoned footballer when I was barely discovering the sport.

The goalkeeper exalted deeply. "You lied to me" she said, gotten me confused. She chuckled softy "You acted like you didn’t know a thing about football". She painfully stood up and waved me to do the same. "But you do" she said smiling as we faced each other. The tall woman pulled me into a hug, her head resting on my shoulder and I hold her tight against me. I gently stroked her back, her jersey was wet and she was clearly stinking of sweat but I didn’t care. I just wanted us to stay like this, clump together.

After a few minutes, we parted and smiled softy at each other. In spite of her weariness, Misa was looking less drained. She was waiting for... something while expectantly looking at me. Her dimples back with her grin enlighten her tired face. I kept smiling, my mind racing to figure out what I should do, what I could do… what I wanted do to. When she thought I wouldn’t do anything, Misa’s smile faded a little and she started to turn around.

"Misa, wait…" I grabbed her arm and pulled her back against me. I only took a glimpse of her surprised yet eager face before I kissed her.

I grasped her face, pressed her mouth harder against mine. Misa let out a whine, the sound of it had my body set afire. I slowly made her step back until she hit the lockers room’s door. She gasped at the contact, put one of her hand in my hair, the other gripping the fabric of the bottom of my shirt. She opened her lips, her taste filled me up entirely and had me moan with want.

Our heated kiss had enlighten all my senses and turned my body into white iron. I felt my hand acting on her own as it went under Misa’s jersey and up her abs. She wimped again, her own fingers going under my shirt and touching the skin of my waist. Her soft and full lips were enveloping my mouth, our breathings had become jerky.

Fevered by my desire of her, I led my hand down her stomach to the strap of her shorts. She groaned and froze. "Wow! Nicky wait…" I stopped neat. She took her hands off my back and gently seized my face. "I have to go back" she said, a burning gaze on me. I breathed, trying to tame the flames devouring my insides. I smiled and repeated, "You have to go back". She placed a last kiss on my lips and got off the room.

Right now, Hell Clasico was finishing on a heavenly note.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Chapter 5 ➤ Valleys and peaks

#woso #misa rodriguez #espwnt #fanfic #futbolista #real madrid femenino #spain wnt #misa rodriguez x reader #misa rodriguez fanfic #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #womens football #hayley raso #fanfic art #woso blurbs #woso x reader

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f1-giuki · 11 months

Note

For the Forced Proximity promt: — “we never speak of this again, do you hear?”

Hi darling! Sorry for the extremely delayed answer, i am shit at managing time... But!! I managed to write the prompt in time for the end of the Austrain GP! And it's a bit long, 1.7k words sjjsjsjdjd... hope im forgiven😭💖😭💖

It has some nsfw action in a broom closet in Austria, hope you like thissss👀

Austria was the home of many contrasting feelings for Charles Leclerc.

He nearly got his first race win there in the big guys league (once he'd say Max stole from him his first win, but he's over that now, it's funny to look at his own face on the podium in 2019, all constipated and full of rage…), he pulled some shit on Sebastian a few years back, he went through hell and back in his red tractor, and now, in the year of the Lord 2022, he's savoring the sweet sweet taste of champagne on the highest step of the podium (not without some issues, let's be clear, the goddess of bad luck always looks over him).

His left foot keeps on twitching after he spent the last few laps pushing like a maniac on the brake pedal when he found out that the throttle was stuck open at 30% whatever he did, but he's enjoying the contrast of the cold champagne and the hot sun on his skin, he will complain later on the debrief with his team, he has time before he can mentally prepare to hear whatever nonsense Binotto usually talks about.

He's ecstatic, he's had an amazing battle with Max, one of the good ones, those that Arthur, his brother, defines as niquer sur la piste, fucking on track.

Charles shakes his head as he keeps on spraying champagne all over his team underneath the podium when he feels someone spraying him with the force of an oceanic wave. He hears an amused laugh, an happy laugh, Max's laugh, before getting drowned once again, Max soaking the back of his racing suit and his neck with precision and a stupidly fond grin.

Charles closes his eyes and starts spraying Max weakly, trying to clean up his eyes a little. He tries to protest but he can only manage to shoot a fond look at the Dutchman and some stupid noise comes up from his throat. Weak idiot.

Lewis looks at them, a mixture of intrigue and embarrassment dances on his face, a mixture that tips dangerously towards the I am going to plot something for you two you can't even imagine…

Max and Charles keep on dancing around each other, the Dutchman vibrates when he steps next to Charles for the official podium picture. Lewis can't look anywhere but at the point where Max is squeezing Charles’s waist so hard. The Monegasque has a content dimpled smile on his lips. Happy and merry.

They wave around for a while and they get back inside, heading towards the press conference room. It's a trip, across various buildings that usually makes a nice walk, but for Lewis those ten minutes are atrocious torture.

He's been left third wheeling with the two idiots and their strange sexual tension. Max keeps on talking with Charles, getting way too close to him than a normal person explaining turn 10 should, but Charles doesn't seem to mind, he walks funnily around, nearly squeezed against a wall by the Dutchman's body, but careful not to step on Max's feet. He can't put even half an inch of distance between them.

Pathetic, Lewis thinks. For the first time in his life Lewis wishes he came fourth and avoided a podium.

It's painful to look at Charles staring at Max's lips and wetting his own with the tip of his tongue every ten seconds, it's even more painful to see Max get all touchy with Charles, a tap in the shoulder, a little touch on his waist or a squeeze of his hand.

The worst thing is that they're both painfully oblivious to what's happening. Aliens in their own bodies. This makes Lewis mad. Max precariously balances his trophy and the bottle of Champagne in one hand as he keeps on gesturing things to Charles with his free hand.

Pathetic, at least I had the guts to kiss Nico in a broom closet, Lewis thinks.

That's when it clicks.

Lewis Hamilton has walked on the ugly carpet from the podium to the conference room enough times to remember that there is a broom closet on the left, twenty steps ahead of them. He looks around, nobody is coming, there's no FIA officials, no journalists, no photographers or team members. Lewis laughs under his breath. Max and Charles still pay him no mind. He overtakes them, walking a bit faster, and opens the door of the closet. He gets lucky the keys are inserted in the keyhole.

"This way, guys, we'll get there quicker," he says and Max and Charles follow his words, too engrossed in their conversation to realise what Lewis is doing.

"Have fun, boys, see you in fifteen-ish minutes or so!" Lewis says when they're inside, before turning the light on and closing the door, locking it from the outside.

Max and Charles stop talking. The Monegasque look at the other confused before realising what is going on.

"He locked us in a broom closet! Mate, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Max asks, putting the trophy and the bottle of champagne on the ground to bang on the door with his palms.

"I'm doing myself a favour, fuck it off before I have to endure more third-wheeling, I'm not Checo," Lewis says, he's on the defensive side.

"We are not together!" Charles splutters and Max passes his hands over his face.

"Well, pride month ended a few weeks ago, you're still on time for new discoveries, bye bye!" Lewis says and walks away.

Charles lowers his trophy too and takes a big gulp of champagne. When in Rome… Max looks at him and blushes. The ugly yellowish light in the closet is too close to Max's head, heating his black Pirelli cap. The problem is not the lighting per se, the problem is that the Dutchman's shadow completely engulfs Charles, and their little height difference feels multiplied by a thousand.

Max gulps down loudly. He wants, he's been wanting all weekend. He's not been subtle at all, especially on the podium, he's been pretty gay while Bizet's overture de Carmen was playing. But Charles, naïve Charles, didn't tell him anything, he just looked at him with those happy green eyes.

"What?" The Monegasque asks, tilting his head to the side, squinting a bit because of how harsh the light is on his eyes.

Max shakes his head. Shut up, Max Emilian Verstappen, don't you dare talk! If you talk there's no way you'll get out of this with your sanity intact, he thinks.

"You were definitely going to say something," Charles mumbles, touching Max's chest with his index finger, keeping it there.

"Are you drunk?" Max asks.

"No? Are you?"

"This is not a clever answer,"

"Yours wasn't a clever question, Max," Charles says, wiggling his brows.

Max wants to bang his head against the wall.

"Please, don't, don't do this to me," Max says.

"Doing what?" Charles whispers, staring at Max's blue eyes.

"You know what,"

"Oh, c'mon Max, Max I'm just honest Verstappen, be direct with me,"

"What? You, what do you mean?" Max asks.

"You're not the only one feeling this…" Charles whispers, tangling his hands behind Max's neck.

"Rot op Charles," Fuck you Charles, Max whispers before kissing Charles avidly.

Charles’s hands tangle in between his hair, pushing him close to his mouth. The Monegasque whimpers impatiently and Max kisses him, taking care of savoring Charles and the lingering champagne taste in his mouth. He may have a champagne kink.

"You are insufferable," Max moans as Charles takes his lower lip between his teeth. He lets it go slowly, driving Max mad.

"Tell me about it," Charles says, his lips nearly touching Max. He keeps Max there by the hold he has on his hair. It's a game Max unfortunately likes to play.

"You take my wins, fuck, my poles, my mental sanity,"

Charles laughs, he latches his mouth on Max's neck, sucking a bruise right on the border between his neck and the fireproofs. Noticeable.

"Pick me up," Charles orders, kissing him again.

Max without thinking twice sets his hands on the Monegasque's legs and lifts him up. Charles latches his legs on Max's waist, groaning when their crotches line up and grind against each other.

"Keep going, baby," Charles whispers in Max's ear, nibbling the lobe.

"Fuck you," Max says, slamming Charles against the wall and grinding into him.

"Hm, that takes time, Max, we don't have it now… Unless you'd like me to fuck you here, while others have the key to this place," Charles whispers, tracing a lazy path of kissed on Max's jaw, making him shiver and falter a bit with his ministrations. Max whimpers.

"Oh… So you have a thing for voyeurism? Is that so?" Charles continues, swallowing Max's answer with his mouth.

Max keeps grinding his painfully hard cock against Charles', not caring if he comes across as desperate or as if he comes in his pants. He's going to clean his race suit and his fireproofs with his cheeks burning with shame, so he might as well take advantage of it.

"Come on, baby, come for me," Charles whispers, clearly affected too.

Max would tease him but he has to concentrate on keeping his moans quiet and not dropping Charles as he comes pathetically in his pants.

Max breathes in Charles’ neck, trying to calm down as Charles whispers sweet nothings in his ear, playing with his hair.

"My life is so fucked right now…" Max whispers and Charles grins before kissing him again, this time softly.

"Welcome to the club, baby" Charles mumbles on Max's lips. The Dutchman smiles.

They hear some fumbling with the door knob but they don't care that much. The post-orgasmic haze… The door slams open and Lewis and Checo look at them. The Mexican looks disgusted.

"Lewis, pinche pendejo, you didn't make the situation any better, look at them, this is going to be a problem for me! Un pinche maldito problema!" Checo shouts.

Max keeps Charles’ legs on his waist, not bothering to take his hands off his ass.

"What the fuck was I supposed to do, Checo?!" Lewis shouts.

"We never speak of this again, do you hear?" Max says to the two men standing in front of the door. Charles keeps on kissing his neck.

"Only if you two avoid eye-fucking every chance you get," Lewis offers.

"We need to talk about things before concluding this contract, non?" Charles says and Max rolls his eyes fondly.

#lestappen #charles leclerc fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #lestappen fanfic #lestappen prompt #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 rpf #austrian gp 2022

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thesherrinfordfacility · 9 months

Text

UM.

Update 2: okay fine then, fuck it (she says still suspicious that there's no way neil would ever confirm a s3 plot point so of course he'd say this BUT THEN AGAIN if time were stopped why would the clock move UGH if it is an error ill be so upset)

UPDATE: so neil answered this but hmmm? now i know fuck all about jack shit admittedly but idk, presumably the first half of the scene where crowley confesses was filmed in at least a few takes? or pieced together in a few takes? and the clock is resolutely at 0925, indicating it would have been stopped? then the second half, just before aziraphale leaves the shop, it's jumped by 15 minutes... precisely.

even if filmed on different days/different calls, you'd expect the clock to have changed hours too...? and i cant imagine that a whole ass week after s2 release that neil would reveal anything about s3 which by all accounts he hasnt finished and can't finish writing yet... yeah im not convinced 100% it's a continuity error

so here is where you witness rhi shit on every single thing she has written including the interpretation written with visceral conviction that I Forgive You was written in response to crowley tempting aziraphale with the kiss. but the thing is, i cant believe that neil 'master of detail' gaiman, douglas 'every prop is important' mackinnon, and co. would let this continuity error slide (*side eye to crowley's sideburns and glasses change*):

now i sincerely hope that this isn't a 'crowley stops time and they actually decide that they're going to swap places/come up with a whole plan to save the world etc without discussing their Problems' incident, because as it stands narratively i feel that could be a little cheap

but possibly more a 'crowley stops time to stay in this below moment and they talk a bit more, but ultimately argue a bit more too and realise that neither as of yet is going to see each others' whole perspective but hey communication of any kind is a revelation for these dummkopfs' moment

like, i still hope there's angst going into s3. i need these two to be worlds apart from each other so they fully recognise the void that the lack of the other has left, and actually their ideological differences a) can be discussed and reconciled, and b) are perhaps not actually that different after all

but whatever potentially happens in those 15 minutes i hope still explains the absolutely devastated look on aziraphale's face, the I Forgive You, the glance back to Crowley before he gets in the lift, aziraphale steeling himself in the lift before he arrives in heaven... does crowley actually confess to aziraphale who he is? who he was before the fall? why he can never go back? why he can never be forgiven in the first place?

this has set my mind on FIRE

#good omens #im not ok #help #i really dislike speculating about the show on ANYTHING other than clues left by the story #(ie spec'ing by way of analysing neil's ask replies it makes me feel weird)#but yeah i cant believe that this would have been allowed to go unnoticed it is SO prominently in shot?#time-stop theory #feral domestic/final fifteen meta

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l-a-l-o-u · 10 months

Note

do you support ai art?

that's a tough one to answer. sorry in advance for the wall of text.

when i first started seeing ai-generated images, they were very abstract things. we all remember the gandalf and saruman prancing on the beach pictures. they were almost like impressionism, and they had a very ethereal and innocent look about them. a lot of us loved those pictures and saw something that a lot of human minds couldn't create, something new and worth something. i love looking at art that looks like nothing i've seen before, it always makes me feel wonder in a new type of way. ai-generated art was a good thing.

then the ai-generated pictures got much more precise, and suddenly we realized they were being fed hundreds of artists' pieces without permission, recreating something similar and calling it their own. people became horrified, and i was too! we heard about people losing their job as background artists on animated productions to use ai-generated images instead. we saw testimonies of heartbroken artists who had their lovingly created art stolen and taken advantage of. we saw people being accused of making ai-generated art when theirs was completely genuine. ai-generated art became a bad thing.

i've worked in the animation industry. right now, i work at an animation school, specifically for 2D animation. i care a lot about the future of my friends in the industry (and mine, if i go back to it), and about all the students i help throughout the years. i want them to find jobs, and that was already hard for a lot of them before the ai-generated images poked their heads into our world.

i'm not very good at explaining nuanced point of view (this is also my second language) but i'll do my best. i think that ai-generated art is a lot of things at once. it's dangerous to artists' livelihoods, but it can be a useful tool. it's a fascinating technological breakthrough, but it's being used unethically by some people. i think the tools themselves are kind of a neutral thing, it really depends on what we do with it.

every time i see ai-generated art i eye it suspiciously, and i wonder "was this made ethically?" and "is this hurting someone?". but a lot of it also makes me think "wow, cool concept, that inspires me to create". that last thought has to count for something, right? i'm an artist myself, and i spend a lot more time looking at art than making art - it's what fuels me. i like to imagine a future where we can incorporate ai-generation tools into production pipelines in a useful way while keeping human employees involved. i see it as a powerful brainstorming tool. it can be a starting point, something that a human artist can take and bring to the next level. it can be something to put on the moodboard. something to lower the workload, which is a good thing, imo. i've worked in video games, i've made short films, and let me tell you, ai-generated art could've been useful to cut down a bit of pre-production time to focus on some other steps i wanted to put more time into. there just needs to be a structure to how it's used.

like i said before, i work in a school. the language teachers are all very worried about ChatGPT and company enabling cheating; people are constantly talking about it at my workplace. i won't get into text ais (one thing at a time today) but the situation is similar in many ways. we had a conference a few months ago about it, given by a special committee that's been monitoring ai technology for years now and looking for solutions on how to deal with it. they strongly suggest to work alongside AIs, not outlaw it - we need to adapt to it, and control how it's used. teach people how to use it responsibly, create resources and guidelines, stay up to date with this constantly evolving technology and advocate for regulation. and that lines up pretty well with my view of it at the moment.

here's my current point of view: ai-generated art by itself is not unethical, but it can easily be. i think images generated by ai, if shared publicly, NEED a disclaimer to point out that they were ai-generated. they should ONLY be fed images that are either public domain, or have obtained permission from their original author. there should also be a list of images that fed the ai that's available somewhere. cite your sources! we were able to establish that for literature, so we can do it for ai, i think.

oh and for the record, i think it's completely stupid to replace any creative position with an ai. that's just greedy bullshit. ai-generated content is great and all, but it'll never have soul! it can't replace a person with lived experiences, opinions and feelings. that's the entire fucking point of art!!

the situation is constantly evolving. i'm at the point where i'm cautious of it, but trying to let it into my life under certain conditions. i'm cautiously sharing ai pictures on my blog; sometimes i change my mind and delete them. i tell my coworkers to consider ways to incorporate them into schoolwork, but to think it over carefully. i'm not interested in generating images myself at the moment because i want to see what happens next, and i'd rather be further removed from it until i can be more solid in my opinion, but i'm sure i'll try it out eventually.

anyway, to anybody interested in the topic, i recommend two things: be open-minded, but be careful. and listen to a lot of different opinions! this is the kind of thing that's very complicated and nuanced (i still have a lot more to say about it, i didn't even get into the whole philosophy of art, but im already freaking out at how much i wrote on the Discourse Site) so i suggest looking at it from many different angles to form your own opinion. that's what i'm doing! my opinion isn't finished forming yet, we'll see what happens next.

#for the record i'm open to discussion about this topic so anyone can feel free to respond #but im honestly more interested in talking about this with people in person #i suggest interacting w this post more than sending asks!#ask #kaijuborn #lalou yells

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dulcemaiden · 1 year

Text

The coming conflict between O!Ciel and Snake

In the recent events of Doll coming back to the manga and diverse opinions about which side Snake will choose, there is something I haven't seen anyone consider that can become crucial to this dilemma: The mysterious incident of Snake keeping silent about OCiel sneaking into the tents of the first strings in Noah’s ark circus. Why he did?

The anime played for laughs that it was Wordsworth the one who didn't tell and Emily scolded him.

But in the manga is different, because it was Snake himself. Smile was caught up by Wordsworth, and we all know the rest: Doll found him, grabbed Wordsworth and gave it to Snake telling him to keep the snakes inside his tent (curiously, it's the same snake that Doll caught in F.O.L.)

Actually, Wordsworth told him that precise moment what was really happening, and Snake seemed nervous and trembling, not knowing what to do: Doll was hiding Smile, who had sneaked into the tents of the first strings. He would have done something about the intruder inmediatly, but this time it was Doll who intervined. Unsure of what to do, he walked away and kept silent about the situation.

But when Snake got in his tent, his snakes must have told him how they were tied up in knots by Black, and that Smile went to investigate the tents. Given how alarmingly suspicious the situation was, and how all the first strings could be in a potential danger, he finally decided to tell Joker. When he was asked why he took his time to tell them, he couldn't give a proper answer.

So he only kept silent because of Doll.

If this assumption is correct, the whole dilemma between Snake and OCiel worsens. Unlike the rest of the circus members who irrumpted in Ciel's manor, and Joker who was with Kelvin, Doll was alone at that time, and she was actually the only one who died under OCiel’s command. Snake has seen how skilled is Sebastian when it comes to kill...

So he won't believe that Doll was a real threat to them. Snake is also aware that she hid Smile from him and his snakes, and from the others first strings in an attempt to protect him, but OCiel still took her life, and that won't be a forgivable thing for Snake.

I've read opinions that in hopes that Snake will keep loyal to OCiel and the servants, expects that he will prefer them because unlike the circus troupe who kept him in the dark, he is one of them now. But maybe that would be underestimating how deep Snake's love for Doll might actually be.

She was the first one who reached a hand out to him, and she took care for him back then. His first reaction to see her again was to effusively tackle hug her while crying. We still have to see Snake's flashbacks, but from the little we have seen, Doll is practically the main one in his memories when it comes to the circus troupe.

Maybe there is the possibility that if OCiel explain to Snake about the children's abduction for Kelvin, and how the servants protected themselves and Lizzie, with time Snake will comprehend it, but he still won't comprehend why OCiel spared his life and not Doll's, not after she went out of her way to protect him, because even if Doll tried to kill OCiel later, Snake tried to kill him too.

Even more so, I don't think OCiel will try to justify himself, since he feels guilty about Doll's death.

Back then, when Snake tried to avenge the circus troupe, OCiel had every reason to kill him: Snake had tried to kill OCiel and killed a guest by mistake, he was not innocent and he was a danger. It is hinted that he let Snake live mainly because he reminded him of Doll.

I would like to point out that OCiel is a more empathetic person than most fans give credit for. He is aware that Doll trusted him and genuinely cared for him back then.

And he had to got rid of her, seeing her as a sacrifice. Doll's death was one that deeply traumatized OCiel as we see in his nightmare in ch95.

He probably don't even judge her, as he didn't judge Joker back then, as Yana mentioned in her blog years ago. You can read it in this post traslated by @akumadeenglish.

No matter which way it goes, this conflict will be inevitable, which is really sad for both OCiel and Snake, because they have grown to genuinely care about each other.

And to finish this post, I personally think that out of all the circus troupe, the fact that it was Doll the one who has returned makes sense from a narrative perspective; because she is the central character between Snake and OCiel: Snake let OCiel had his way in the circus because of Doll, and OCiel let Snake live because of Doll.

#I praise yana's writing skills #this will be a very angsty arc #even though I don't want to see snake suffer #I hope the plot finally moves #I don't have my hopes high in regard to snake keeping loyal to ociel #especially after yana's ominous tweet #kuroshitsuji #black butler #blue revenge arc #character analysis #ciel phantomhive #snake #doll

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illym · 5 months

Text

I think Justice would be a huge novelty (atypically shaped or designed) cup fan.

Bonus group gifts from her kids:

Elphelt: handmade mug

Ramlethal: handmade coaster

Jack-O: homemade hot chocolate mix (that you shouldn't drink if you have a heart condition) and a bunch of candy canes.

ID for both images in alt texts.

Misc thoughts below:

I feel like Jack-O hardcore celebrates every single holiday even if she doesn't personally celebrate, to explain her tree neck thing and headband.

I honestly don't know if the Valentines would celebrate Christmas; I don't know whether Aria would celebrate (she was American in the 20xx's, and I imagine that people flocked to religion as a way to provide emotional support and answers after the technology collapse of 1998 or whichever year that happened. People might've left again after magic became huge, but... I dunno. I don't study human psychology, i just find it fun to think about.), and her closest human friends currently are Sylv and Bridget.

Sylv doesn't know what Christmas is, and... Actually, Bridget's accent core costume is vaguely (very vaguely) nun themed, so that implies that she knows Christianity well enough to stylize herself after it.

But on the other hand, we never see her experience Catholic guilt 🤔.

Okay, we've gotten off track and forgotten our original point... Let's go back.

I headcanon that Justice can't eat solid foods very well because her mouth doesn't open very wide and chewing is difficult for her, so most of her meals are smoothies and drinks and the like. It's why she started collecting cups; may as well have some fun with it. I don't know if she would think of it herself; maybe Sylv came up with the idea, and Justice enjoyed it far more than she thought.

Elphelt went to a pottery class and got absolutely obsessed for two weeks. Ramlethal joined her, but only really enjoyed carefully forming more solid (pre-baked pottery), as the wet and mushy stuff was too hellish as a sensation. Elphelt enjoyed going absolutely ham hitting it around and shaping it and squashing it flat again. She fell out of it after those couple weeks, but she goes to the big fancy studio in Illyria whenever someone she knows is headed to Illyria.

Jack-O wasn't around during that saga (I've started debating whether she's six months older than the Elphelt and Ramlethal, which would make her roughly emotionally 4-7 years older than them), so she never had a pottery moment. I think if she tried out physical crafts, she'd really like that thing where you smash glass and then build something pretty from it.

Justice .... Probably watercolors or something that doesn't require hardcore precision. But I don't think she'd ever initiate trying it out; someone would have to convince her to try it and stick with it through her "this isn't worth the effort of working around my hands" phase.

Bonus: Christmas gifts from the other people that Justice knows

Sylv: xe got her a thick stick with a soft rubber tip to make reading books easier (by making turning the pages easier) (she has difficulty with delicate things like paper because of her claws). Handmade since Sylv couldn't find one that was good for Justice's hand size.

Bridget: she ordered a custom Roger shaped cookie jar for herself, and went ahead and ordered some custom cups to go with it, giving one to Justice since (liking novelty cups) was the only personal gift able trait she could think of. Justice loved it.

Robo Ky: He piggybacked off of Sylv's gift the first year, since he was too self centered to get anyone else a gift. The first gift he got her was lightly scented armor polish, since Justice had complained that she was tired of her armor overpowering a lot of other sensations (the metallic smell being stronger than most other smells around). She was extremely grateful and flattered that he thought of that.

Sol: didn't get her anything. They have a really awkward, emotionally strained relationship so even if he'd thought of it in more than a passing thought

Can you tell I'm primarily a writer.

I can't copy paragraphs on my phone but this was too good to restrict to a Christmas gift

The first gift he actually gave her were some claw coverings, made from one of the few materials that was stronger than her claws and also not a major pain in the ass to use. They can connect magnetically to a bracelet Justice chose to wear around her elbow, so that taking them off for fights doesn't require her to find a place to put them.

#illym art #guilty gear #justice gg #justice guilty gear #elphelt valentine #ramlethal valentine #jacko valentine #jack o valentine #hmm #elphelt guilty gear #guilty gear ramlethal

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tagedeszorns · 9 months

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I can't believe I'm doing this ...

I found this neat nugget on my doorstep.

Edit: At this post, to be precise. Just for context.

Well, @beril66. Okay. Normally I'm the nice explainer-bear in this part of the woods, answering even the strangest questions in a friendly and detailed way. Normally I'm the damned Credible Hulk who even feeds trolls with lore until they are round and peaceful or at least waddle away into the wilderness again after the winter feeding to survive the frost period …

But this … this is beyond my boiling point!

Listen, you clown - you come traipsing into my blog, obviously didn't even bother to look at the last three posts, obviously don't even know who Saqqara is and therefore don't see the irony behind letting a diabolist explain the world - and instead of just keeping yourself nice and closed, you throw up something like your comments on my living room carpet? What went wrong in your childhood?

But you know what? I just can't help it. I should end this text here, block you back under your bridge and go back to drawing naked Astartes. But instead, once again, I can't get out of my skin and feel the urge to reply.

I can't say now that you give me much to work with. Nothing but "No, it's not like that, I think it's great and you're stupid". That's not exactly the level at which I usually discuss Warhammer - but I'll make it work.

So: If you had looked at my blog even superficially you would know that I like TTS. I am therefore looking at it with a very friendly eye. The fact that I'm not upset about the portrayal of my absolute favourite characters Lucius and Fabius should give you the additional hint that I have no problem at all with something I like being made fun of. But I am not wearing the ultimate fanboy-blinders and am able to keep my distance and can therefore say that I do not find both Magnus and Dorn portrayed "in character". Extensively readable in the Heresy novels (for Dorn and Magnus, by the way, many of the characterisation gems here can be found in the later anthologies. Which explains a lot of the mistakes in TTS, as not much of it had been released yet when they started their project and set the characters. So the creators couldn't know any better. The fact that angry fans are now shitting their incendiary speeches at my feet here is of course then rather unreflective. But I can't blame Alfabusa and the team for that. You don't choose your fans). That you conclude from this that I think the Emperor is great and am humourless is in itself extremely amusing. But you're probably right.

He's the best. I aspire to be like him. Also, please educate yourself about the difference between "well written" and "being a good guy". Because the Emperor is well written in a lot of cases, he just isn't a good guy.

For me, TTS is not the problem. It's people like you who obviously don't want to delve further into the subject matter, but turn memes into canon. No one needs to have read every scrap of lore. I myself am very selective in what I read and I know far too little. Learning new things, changing my mind accordingly - that's a big part of the fun I have in fandom. I allow myself the luxury of challenging my fan-ness with books and opinions that don't line up with mine. At best, I'm even wrong and can add something new to my private Warhammer treasure chest.

I recommend you do the same. Don't stop where you are, read the books. Realise that, contrary to what you seem to believe at the moment, they are not humourless and unreflective, but on the contrary have wit and irony in many shades (quite a few of those shades are called "sledgehammer", but that counts too!).

Now that was severely abbreviated, but I'm tired of it.

Run, little troll! Run, you are free!

#Warhammer #I fed the Troll #Credible Hulk #TTS #Lore #Meta #I am tired

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thesparklingwriter · 10 months

Text

taking fate into one's own hands

02—illusion

Word count: 1.8k

navi | taglist | masterlist

“They are the cards I have been dealt.” You say after a moments’ silence. He stares at you, golden eyes catching the dwindling light of the sun. You stare back. How such simple words have caused such discontent, you do not know.

“You’d simply accept that?” He asks you. You swipe an imaginary speck of dust from your dress, using the opportunity to choose your words carefully.

“In your own words, I’m the princess of a dying kingdom. I am duty-bound to do whatever my mother and father expect of me. Whether I agree or whether I think it will help is a different matter. I cannot abandon my people.” The man’s gaze softens slightly, surprised by your dedication to your kingdom--so much so that you don’t question what it tells you to do.

You don’t notice this, having already walked away from him. You’re not being outwardly rude—your pace is slow enough to insinuate that you expect him to follow, but slow enough to let him question the idea.

Maybe that’s a reflection of how you feel—of how you don’t feel enough either way to fight what’s happening to you.

“Will this save your kingdom?” He asks. He makes no moves to follow you—uninterested in the idea of chasing you. Why should one chase why they already have?

It’s this question that makes you realise that he is truly just a stranger. He holds no sway over you and you don’t owe him an answer in any way. “I am under no obligation to answer your prying questions. I don’t know who you are nor who you are affiliated with.”

“I apologise.” He says, still staring at you from his spot down the path from you. “My name is Zhongli. I work closely with the king.” He bows slowly, with an air of elegance that makes you fear for your encounter with the king himself. If he insists that even his subordinates are this precise with their greetings—even if it takes time to receive one—what would he insist on from you?

You curtesy out of habit, lowering your head. “This does not mean that I will answer your question.”

“I do not expect you to.”

“You work with the king?” You ask again. Zhongli nods once. “What should I expect?”

“You can’t possibly expect me to explain every one of the king’s idiosyncrasies to you.” He replies. At some point during the strained exchange, you’ve both ended up moving closer to each other, no longer metres apart.

“You came to my palace and insulted me and my kingdom. You seem to be more than comfortable with the sound of your own voice.” You retaliate. “Pray tell, what is he like?”

Zhongli opens his mouth to respond to you, but stops suddenly, alarmed by the sound of your parents storming through the palace gates. Your mother fusses over you immediately, hissing about the arrangements you’re late for and the rage you are about to incur from the noble you’ve ignored, while your father apologises profusely for your sudden exit.

Your mother flaps her hands over your hair and your dress, paying no mind to her gown that frays more as she sweeps through the castle. She asks you what the man was saying to you, what you said, whether you’re okay or not and why you didn’t leave sooner.

You smile. “He was simply telling me more about the king. I assume it’s Liyue that has provided us with the highest bid?”

Your mother seems conflicted. “More than the highest bid. It seems the king has taken a shining to you. He has promised to protect our kingdom indefinitely in return for you.”

“How unrealistic,” you scoff, ignoring the way your mother tuts derisively at your words.

“My dear. Unrealistic or not, tens of thousands of innocent men and women will not see next winter if you do not do this. I beg of you. Please give him the benefit of the doubt.”

You nod instead of the shrug you feel your body conjuring up and excuse yourself to your room. Aside from being brash and clearly argumentative, neither of the Liyuean dignitaries seemed to be bad people. You could understand where the resentment could arise—before anything you’re foreign to the country—and you could forgive them for that. You could forgive their initial response to you if they kept their word to save your kingdom. But at some point, you knew your perfect outer lining would fray, and what would happen then?Would they dispose of you once you were no longer useful to them?

“Your highness,” Alanna announces her presence in your room, quietly closing the door behind you. “Has everything been alright?”

“It’s been an experience.” You say softly. You shift on your window seat, leaving space for her to sit by you. “I’m resigned to what is happening. But I’m also surprised by how fast things are moving.”

“As am I,” Alanna sighs. “I have given the matter of your leaving some thought. And I’ve decided that despite the nature of my role in the palace, you are like a sister to me and I cannot let you leave on your own.”

You look at her with slight shock. She’s two years your junior and yet, she handles crises with such poise and confidence. More than you could ever hope to.

Perhaps she should have been the princess. Not you.

“Will you go quietly tomorrow?” She asks before you can express your gratitude, her head inclined towards you as if this is the juiciest gossip this side of the century. “I hear they’re sending a carriage. You’d be well within your rights to make a scene.”

“I’m sorry, tomorrow? I wasn’t aware—” Your voice trails off. Of course, this is something your mother would do. Conceal the real timeline from you for fear of you absconding or changing your mind. But you don’t hold a grudge. “I wasn’t aware, but I’m not surprised.” You sigh. “I have to go quietly, Alanna. But what I do after is open for discussion.”

The following morning is unsettlingly fast paced. Your parents show some regret at not having informed you of your departure tomorrow and provide you with everything you ask. Their smiles are bittersweet when they see you dressed in traditional Liyuean clothing—clothes infinitely more luxurious that the best they had to offer you here. They apologise repeatedly, but you don’t dwell on it, telling them that everything is alright—that you understand their actions even if you can’t sympathise with them.

You take nothing with you, save for one thing—a stuffed toy that you’ve had since birth. Nothing else is worth taking—it all generates a sense of regret in you, no matter how much you try to bury it down.

“I wish you well,” your father says. He bows to you, a signal of his gratitude. An action that is wholly too formal for a father to show his daughter. You curtesy back, you smile, you nod. Your mother and father take it at face value. They thank Alanna, who also finds herself in the native Liyuean clothing, for leaving with you and demonstrating her dedication to the kingdom.

The doors to your palace open, and the same dignitary from yesterday approaches. He bows to you with an air of reluctance, exchanges a few words with your parents and finally addresses you.

“The king awaits you in his carriage.” He says, regarding you with clear approval. It seems you look good enough in the traditional clothes to satisfy the king.

“What of my assistant?” You ask him. He glances at Alanna carefully and you watch the cogs whirring in his head. Does he dare refuse you your assistant so late in the arrangement? It would take very little for you to end it now.

“Your assistant may travel with me. The king has been very clear that only you should travel with him.”

You nod, fighting to keep your poised image as anxiety suddenly grips you and you follow behind the dignitary. With a final curtsey at your parents, you turn and exit the palace, the doors dragging shut behind you. Alanna follows behind with the bags of her belongings that you claim are yours.

The carriage is nothing short of luxurious, golden images painted on the body and black horses brushed to perfection carrying it. The driver dismounts, helping you into the main carriage as Alanna and the dignitary get seated elsewhere. She smiles reassuringly at you, and you nod tensely.

“Your highness,” A voice speaks up before you’re even seated in the carriage, meaning you can’t admire the decor as much as you wished you could. Liyue clearly does not want for mora and sees no harm in displaying it to the world.

You bow instead of your usual curtsey, eager to not cause problems so soon in the arrangement. “Your majesty.” You reply, carefully sitting opposite the voice. His face is slightly obscured by the shade the castle casts onto the carriage, but once it starts moving, the sun shines through the windows and you can see him clearly.

The same golden eyes and long black hair that you saw yesterday, the same low, rumbling voice…why didn’t you notice sooner?

“Mr Zhongli?” You ask, staring at him. You try our best not to show your surprise, but really? The king so feared across Teyvat dressed up as one of his own dignitaries to meet you? It’s absurd.

“I had expected a little more fanfare to your departure.” He says, ignoring your question. “But, in hindsight, I can also see why you would reject that notion.”

“So it was you I spoke to yesterday?”

“I made very few attempts to conceal that fact.”

“Aside from lying about your name.”

“I have been dubbed with many names throughout my life. I did not lie.”

“I would be a good woman to get out of the carriage right now.”

Zhongli, or rather Morax, stares at you. There’s no malice in his gaze. Maybe slight amusement, but nothing hurtful. “I would hold nothing against you if you were to do that. I will protect your kingdom with or without you as my bride.”

You scoff. “What do you seek to gain from protecting us?”

“Mondstadt provides Liyue with a lot of supplies. Your kingdom, even despite being disconnected from the main landmass, has provided Liyueans not only the raw materials they need to thrive, but also a comfortable place for many to live as they explore greater Teyvat. It would be cruel to not help a kingdom that has aided us so much.”

“You don’t want the Liyuean immigrants to die in the predicted famine, do you?”

“Among other reasons.” Morax nods. “Forgive me for lying to you when we first met. I wanted to ascertain your character for myself.”

“And what did you conclude?”

“You’re not at all like they said you were. They promised me a princess who wouldn’t question anything I did. Perhaps you would pass for that at face value, but I struggle to be wholeheartedly deceived by your act.”

“You forget yourself.”

“Perhaps I do.” He counters, a slight smile playing on his lips. “But would you forgive me nevertheless?”

how will you proceed?

the link above goes to the poll deciding what the reader will do next. please vote on it! if the link isn't live yet, please go to my blog-the poll will be there.

author's note: I’m back on my bs woooo. This chapter did not want to be written but i said double it and give it to the next person and persevered anyway. However, now all my chapter plans are destroyed and ive shoved about 4 chapters woth of plot into one chapter and now the series will likely be shorter than i wanted it to be but oh well c’est la vie xoxo my new hobby is very likely going to be just dropping these whenever i feel like it lol

taglist: @ainescribe @tartigglez

#reader x zhongli #you x zhongli #genshin x reader #zhongli #genshin zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli genshin impact #genshin au #zhongli fanfic #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #fanfiction #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact fan fiction #genshin fan fiction #genshin zhongli #zhongli genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #[🧡]—taking fate into one's own hands

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froggywritesstuff · 2 years

Text

may i? | eliza schuyler

Pairings: Eliza Schuyler x g/n!reader

Warnings: fluff, swearing, self doubt, awkward confessions, overall bad writing

Time: modern

A/N: this is heavily inspired by the Seven Minutes scene in the movie Crush

"Have you even talked to anyone here besides me?"

You rolled your eyes at John. That was even for him to say. He was practically best friends with everyone at the party. He was pretty much the only person you knew at the party. He was the only reason you were there, so why would you bother talking to people you would normally never talk to?

"For your information, I have. I bumped into that girl and said sorry." you explained, pointing to a girl wearing a yellow leather jacket paired with black tights and a maroon beanie.

John looked over at the girl, before turning back to face you, "So you apologised, then you-"

You cut him off, nodding, "I immediately ran away."

"Why? You could've had a conversation with her at least."

You sent him a look of disbelief. You knew he was only trying to help, but he could be an idiot sometimes, "Have a conversation with her? Dude, she looks so intimidating."

"What- because she has a leather jacket?"

"Precisely. Only super cool people wear those." you stated matter-of-factly.

With a roll of his eyes, John wrapped his arm around yours and began walking, "No. Peggy is literally the least intimidating person to ever walk the earth."

"What are you doing?" you groaned as he practically dragged you across the room.

"You're talking to her." he said, "You need to talk to at least one other person before you graduate high school."

"But-" before you could protest, John had pushed you Peggy's way and called her name to get her attention, "Peggy, this is Y/N." was all he said before leaving you two alone.

Peggy was confused (you didn't blame her), but she smiled brightly at you nonetheless, "Hey Y/N. I'm Peggy, as John literally just said. You bumped into me before, right?"

You nodded, a little embarrassed that that was the only way she knew you. But John was right, she was definitely not intimidating. If anything, she had the opposite effect now, making all your nerves melt away.

"Cool," she said before grabbing your arm and pulling you to her side, grabbing her phone from her pocket and quickly snapping a photo of the two of you together. Seeing your confused expression, she began to explain, "Sorry, I have like, three friends and a sister with huge crushes on you, so they're gonna be so pissed to see that I got a photo with you before them." she said like it was obvious. You could barely make out her sending the photo to four people, before she shoved her phone back in her pocket.

"Oh... what?" you asked, trying to process what she said. Before she could answer, a loud voice called everyone over, and everyone began making their way to the speaker. You hesitantly followed Peggy, asking her what was going on.

"Have you played Seven Minutes before?" You felt your stomach drop. Apparently, Peggy noticed your nervous look, and grabbed your hand comfortingly, "Don't worry, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You nodded hesitantly, sitting down beside her as the rest of the party goers began to sit down as well. Glancing over at everyone in the circle, an anxious feeling stirred in the pit of your stomach as you realised there was a high chance of you getting picked which meant you'd have to spend seven minutes in the bathroom with someone you most likely barely knew. Even if you didn't make out with them or do anything else like that, seven minutes was a long time to spend with someone and do nothing with. As you continued scoping out the people sitting in the circle, your eyes fell on one girl, who looked like she had been glaring at Peggy. When you looked over at her, she quickly averted her gaze and glued her eyes back to her phone. You continued staring at her for a second, taking in every detail about her. She had straight black hair falling past her shoulder, a pastel blue long-sleeved shirt on, paired with a white tennis skirt and white doc martens. You had no idea why you were so drawn to her.

Before you could stare any longer, John pulled you out of your thoughts, smiling as he sat down next to you and saw you sitting with Peggy.

"Told you she's not intimidating."

You just rolled your eyes at him, before the person who was speaking before spoke up again. He had dark black hair tied into a ponytail, a white shirt underneath a green hoodie, and what looked like a pillow case in his hands. You didn't know him, only being able to recognize him from a few classes and seeing him talking with John a few times. From what you heard, he wasn't exactly the urban dictionary definition of nice, but he could be nice when he wanted to be.

"Ok everyone, phone's in the bag," he quickly shook out the pillow case in his hand and held it out to everyone. He walked around in the circle, collecting everyone's phones as he explained the rules, "For those of you who don't know the rules, you put your phone in the bag, and whichever two people get their phone picked from the bag have to go into the bathroom together for seven minutes." Once he had all the phones in the sack, he returned back to the centre of the circle, and shook the pillow case to shuffle the phones a bit, "Shall we begin?" A chorus of cheers erupted from the circle as Alex reached his hand into the pillow case, drawing the first phone.

___

Over half an hour went past, five pairs of people got the phones pulled from the bag, but you were yet to get picked.

Most of the people were pretty much strangers to you, so you weren't paying much attention to who's phone was getting picked. The only part of the game that did get your attention was when John and Alex's phones got picked, and after their seven minutes was up, they both exited the bathroom re-buttoning and readjusting their shirts with bright blushing faces.

"Dude!" you laughed as John sat down beside you, which made his cheeks burn even more.

"Shut up," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact as he glanced over at Alex.

You snickered at his antics, "You're telling me everything on the drive home."

He sent a glare your way, which you only responded by laughing even more.

"Who's phone is this?" Alex asked.

The smile on your face was quickly wiped off when you saw your phone in Alex's hand.

"Y/N's! That's Y/N's phone!" John quickly called out, and you weren't sure if he just wanted some of the previous attention off of him, or if he wanted to get back at you for teasing him.

Beside you, you heard Peggy gasp, smirking at you, then she glanced to the side, giggling at someone you couldn't see.

You stood up with a sigh, grabbing your phone and waiting anxiously for Alex to grab the next phone. It felt like he was purposely taking forever to pick a phone, just to piss you off.

Finally, he pulled out a phone. You didn't recognize the phone to be John's (obviously, since he just got picked and took his phone out of the bag) or Peggy's, which made the anxious feeling much worse. However, by the teasing sounds everyone made at the sight of the phone, everyone else recognized the phone.

"Liza, you're up!" you heard Peggy's voice shout.

Even with the bright blush covering her cheeks, you vaguely recognized the girl who stood up as the girl who you saw glaring at Peggy before.

She took her phone from Alex's hand and quickly made her way to the bathroom, resulting in more 'ooo' sounds from the guests as you awkwardly followed her, shutting the door behind you.

You had no idea what to say, just watched as Eliza sat herself down on the edge of the bathtub, her head hanging down to hide the blush that was still tainting her cheeks.

"Uh- we don't have to make out, or anything," you said, having no idea how to start a conversation, "Like I don't mind, w-we can just talk."

Running a hand through her hair, she looked up at you, "Ye-yeah, we can- we should talk. Um- I'm Eliza. I'm Peggy and Angelica's sister."

"Oh, I'm Y/N. I-I don't have a sister here." you added, internally rolling your eyes at how awkward you were acting.

But instead of just giving you a weird look and shuffling further away from you as you expected, Eliza laughed. You absolutely adored the sound of her laugh. You had only just met her, but for some reason you felt the same weird sensation of being drawn to her as you did before.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Y/N." she said, smiling sincerely at you, "You're friends with John, right?"

"Yeah, I came to the party with him," you answered with a nod, "He's basically the only person I know here. Except for you now, and Peggy."

"Socializing not your thing?" she asked, the judgmental tone you normally heard when someone asked something like that was nowhere to be heard.

"Nah, I pretty much only hang with John. Dunno why he chooses to be friends with me, but I'm glad he does."

'Ok Y/N, weird thing to admit to the pretty girl you met ten seconds ago, but get it I guess.'

Eliza tilted her head to the side, "Why do you think that?"

You shrugged, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub next to her, "I just don't think I would be friends with me if I was him. Like, he's literally the nicest and funniest guy I've met, he has tons of friends. It doesn't make too much sense that he's friends with me."

"Well," Eliza shrugged, fidgeting with her two hands, "I think it makes sense." You furrowed your brows at her, "I mean, I just met you, but you seem like a really good person."

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, and before you realised you were staring at her lips. Tearing your eyes away, you quickly pulled out your phone, checking the time, "Five more minutes." you said, eyes awkwardly darting around the room, avoiding eye contact with Eliza.

"You know my sisters are probably standing outside with their ears up to the door trying to spy on us." Eliza said, raising her voice as she spoke, which was followed by the sounds of Angelica and Peggy shushing each other and running away from the door.

You laughed as Eliza just shook her head with a smile, "They sound fun." you said, receiving a shrug from Eliza.

"They're exciting. I can always trust them to piss me off without fail."

You nodded your head, "Are you dating anyone?"

'What the fuck Y/N?!'

You had no idea what compelled you to ask that, and by the bright blush on Eliza's face, you knew she was shocked by it as well, "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that, you don't have to-"

"No. I'm not dating anyone." she answered, a small smile tugging at her lips, "A-are you?

Heart pounding, you shook your head, "Nope. Not dating anyone."

Eliza nodded at your answer, glancing down at your lips, "Would you... may I kiss you?"

Fuck she was so beautiful.

"Y-you may." you answered, trying not to nod your head so eagerly.

She ever so softly placed her hands on your cheeks, her eyes fluttering shut as she pulled your face toward hers. Your hands gently cupped her face, filling the space between the two of you as you placed your lips against hers. The kiss was so soft, and sweet, it all felt surreal. You, who avoided talking with anyone other than John at all costs, were kissing Eliza during Seven Minutes in Heaven.

That's when it hit you.

It was Seven Minutes in Heaven. For all you know, Eliza was just kissing you to pass the time. You could walk out the door and you two would go back to being nothing more than classmates. Nothing more than strangers.

"What's wrong?"

Apparently Eliza noticed the shift in your mood. She pulled away from the kiss, but her hands still remained on your cheeks, holding them so softly as if you were made of glass.

"Nothing, I-" you said, taking a shaky breath, almost embarrassed to say what you were worried about, "I know I pretty much just met you, but I really like you, and- fuck, you're just so beautiful a-and nice, and I just don't wanna walk out that door and go back to being strangers, like this never happened." you hated how desperate and pathetic you sounded. You worried that you already freaked her out, or came on too strong by saying that.

But to your surprise, Eliza laughed softly, before smiling at you, her thumb rubbing over your cheek, "Y/N, I've had the most embarrassing crush on you for a year now."

You practically froze.

"We don't have to start dating or anything yet, but I definitely don't wanna be strangers again."

A sigh of relief left your lips at her words, "Glad we're on the same page." you mumbled, a wide grin on your face as you smashed your lips against hers.

"Holy shit!"

The two of you were so lost in each other, you didn't even care about the crowd of people surrounding the open door.

"You actually did it?!" you recognized Peggy's voice, and could quickly assume that she knew about Eliza's crush on you.

Eventually, you pulled away, spotting John's shocked smile in the crowd of people, "Thank you so much for inviting me to this."

buy me a coffee <3

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thatdesklamp · 7 months

Note

WAIT OMG-

been reading intrinsic warmth for a WHILE and your writing is top tier!! i always wondered to myself every time i’d read a chapter why the writing just STICKS, yk? i’m a MAJOR book girlie, i read 24/7.

AND THEN IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN I READ ONE OF YOUR TAGS THAT YOU PUT UP ON ONE OF YOUR POSTS WHERE YOU WERE ANSWERING A QUESTION FROM ANOTHER LOVELY READER AND I SEE THAT YOU TOOK AN ENGLISH A LEVEL?

first of all (not 100% sure on this) but i’m pretty sure only british ppl take gcses, a levels, etc. YOU’RE BRITISH?

i feel like i’ve met my other half rn over something so tiny but yeah. IT LITERALLY EXPLAINS WHY YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD:

i could point out the NUMBER of times i’ve seen juxtaposition, symbolism, foreshadowing in your fic to someone if they’d asked me to point it out for them. at first i thought you might’ve done it unknowingly, and then i decided that nope, bc foreshadowing is such a BIG writing technique that it simply couldn’t have been by accident.

it’s one thing to know about a writing technique and another to actually be able to SUCCESSFULLY incorporate it into your writing. if it isn’t clear enough, i’m saying that you did it AMAZINGLY. you’ve got a natural talent and i’m envioussss (in a supporting way ofc 😭).

you should really look into making your own book, and i think you EXCEL at the supernatural aspect of plot in stories. your writing is so unique and different yet so warm, it reminds me of autumn (my favourite season).

idk how to end such a long message, ultimately i don’t have a reason for typing this up and shit. ik you have tons of people probably saying the same thing and it might just get repetitive for you, but i wouldn’t feel comfortable not being part of said bunch-of-ppl-probably-saying-the-same-thing.

oh! and take your SWEET TIME updating. it’s your story, your fic, your writing. the ONLY thing we readers can give you as a payback and thanks is time, patience, and understanding <3333

RAHHH BRITTANIA 💪💪💪💪

Agh. Yes—I’m British (English to be precise, sweet sweet caroline etc), hence the use of ‘u’s in words like ‘colour’ and ‘humour’, and also why everyone’s parents are their ‘father’ or ‘mother’ and not mum/dad. ‘Mom’ feels too American but ‘mum’ feels too rah engerland, yk? I’ve mentioned previously that I’m looking forward to writing fics where the characters are actually from England and where I’m actually allowed to write them the way I talk, mostly. Good lord am I excited.

And yes lol I took English for an A-Level. Bloody smashed it too, if I get to brag, mwahaha. Didn’t take it any further (I’ve also previously said that I’m a # woman in stem uni student, which is true), but I still write a killer essay imo. Give me 10 minutes to do a refresher on ‘Othello’ (it’s been a while okay) and I can talk for donkeys about his tragic fall and how much of a wanker he is. Which he is! I’m a Desdemona defender for life.

You say ‘natural talent’. PLS. No!! God no. Not at all. I wish—that would’ve made it a lot easier, but whatever I can do rn is down to bloody years of toiling away on my shitty little laptop, I promise. I’ve got another anon ask that asked about some writing tips so I’ll do the bulk of them there but my number 1 will always and forever be to practise. Whatever skill I have now has been earned over the many years. You don’t even want to see some of the stuff that will never grace my ao3 page (atla had me in a chokehold through covid and I have never been the same).

But you are genuinely so complimentary: this is so so lovely of you. Thank you?? It’s really weird being someone who writes and also someone who enjoys analysing literature; you’re right, half of the ‘techniques’ are intentional (the number of times I’ve flicked through some chapters’ drafts and thought, ‘fucks sake none of this makes sense, I need to add some decent foreshadowing or none of this will make sense in two chapters’), but also so much of my writing is just thinking, ‘hmm, this doesn’t really feel right. No no, I don’t like the vibe of this. I want this to feel more GRAAHHH and less lalalala. Lemme change this up a bit’. Whether that leads to the whole, short sentences->speeds up the pace of the reader when reading the section->increased tension, mimics actual fight encounter, etc etc (all the stuff you blag on about in eng lit), then maybe that counts as intentional? And maybe not.

Making my own book? That’s lovely of you to say but I also really don’t have any ideas for anything non-fanfic’y! Lol. I love a good bit of canon compliance, that’s my issue. That being said—hey, another eng a level reference—I’ve made multiple references here to being the world’s #1 ‘Atonement’ hater. Unfortunately, it also lives damn rent free in my head and I’ve got the bare bones of a WW2-era, perhaps epistolary, longform fic buzzing around. (Fandom: Marauders. I’m a disgrace but here we go). I’ve written nothing for it and maybe I never will, but that’s one of the only things I can see as being more standalone from original canon. Anyway: it’s the fanfic life for me. Ali Hazelwood’s life is but a distant dream.

But anyway! Thank you again for your lovely words. The next IW chapter will take a very long time, I have to be frank, so thank you for the reassurance that that’s not absolutely disgraceful lmao T_T Thanks again!! <3

#intrinsic warmth #I hope I have not accidentally hidden my englishness #the biggest event of this month isn’t Halloween or 1989tv — it’s the switch from bst to gmt babyy

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headcanons-multi-fandom · 2 months

Note

Could you do Slime Boy (High Gaurdian Spice) either angst or x read headcanons?

Slime Boy x Reader

Slime Boy is not the most popular or incredible student at High Guardian Academy, but you always notice him when he's near you. You are not really sure why, but he's so... him!

If you want to flirt with him before being in a relationship, you have to be brave, because this man is the most oblivious to romance. He will consider you as a very good friend until you tell him precisely what you feel about him.

If he's the one in love with you, he will sing serenades in front of your dorm's door or window. It's not impossible that some students throw shoes at him as revenge to wake them in the middle of the night.

As a couple, your life would be very chill. He's a simple boy with simple needs.

He's very open and will communicate openly with you. And you can do the same, because it's almost impossible to make him mad.

The perfect date for him would be to spend time with you, no matter where or when. But if he had to choose, it would be in his dorm room, watching a movie under a blanket together.

He would love to see you at the shop where he works. But don't do it too often because he will stop everything to show you around, pointing every terrasphere to explain how they were created, no matter if you have come twenty times already.

Be ready to hear a lot of romantic songs about you, because you can't stop being his muse.

If you team up with him as a guardian, he would be more a support than a front-line fighter. But he wouldn't hesitate to put himself in danger for you.

A lot of students would question about what you find in him to motivate you to date this... slime boy! Strangely, none of your answers would explain anything to them.

If you are up to it, he would love to let you cut his hair, create his holidays costumes, groom his hair... Usually he does it alone, but he isn't very good at cutting his own hair.

His love language is gifts and services. He's too shy and quiet to tell you he loves you in public outside a song or touch more than your hands.

After a long day, he will prepare you a good dinner and a hot bath without saying a word, just because he can and is happy to.

For an extra special occasion in public, he would give you a peck on your cheek.

Be attentive to him, because even if he openly communicates about anything, he won't tell you if he has a bad day. He doesn't want to bother you if you are not responsible for the problem.

He would be delighted if you were a musician too. Be ready for jam sessions every Thursday evening!

He will definitely integrate you into his music band, not matter if you are a musician or not. He will find you a place.

The band's members are the only people in the whole academy who understand why you two are dating. But they love to let the others make theories, so they won't spill the beans.

A lot of people don't like to work with Slime Boy. Not because he's lazy; he's very hardworking, but he's a bit underwhelming in comparison with his classmates. If you two are in the same year, the teachers will pair you up almost every time.

You definitely know his real name. No, I won't tell you!

#headcanons #high guardian spice #slime boy #x reader #Slime Boy x reader #romantic #neutral reader #reader

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